# LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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.omrnU fo 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, f 



SONGS 

OF 

EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 




SONGS 



OF 



EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 



BY 



MRS. M. J. E. CKA\yFORD. 




PHILADELPHIA: 
PTBLTSHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY 

CLAXTOX, REMSEX & HAFFELFIXGER, 

S19 <fe 821 Markkt Strret. 
18 7 2. 



4- 



C 



Entered, according to Act of CoHgre.ss, in tho year 1871, by 

M. J. E. CRAWFORD, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

STEREOTYPED BY J. PAGAN & SON, PHILADEtPHIA. 



PTiTNTEI) BY MOOUE EnOTJTEnS, 

Fj:ii.ikiin Buildings, Sixth St., below Arch, 

rhitadelpliia. 




Father Time and his Children 
Tpie Spirit-Voice 
A Sunset Thought of Heaven 
The Child's Prayer 
The Spring-Time . 
The Child's Last Smile 
Oh, name Her not ! 
The Gathered Eose . 
Thoughts of Age . 
To my Friends . 
The Summer Wind 
Maltna .... 
The First Kiss 
A Child's Thoughts . 
Summer Twilight . 
Hereafter . 
Lois .... 
Sunset and Twilight 
He spareth me 
Legend of the Well 
A Mother to her Dying Child 
The Spirit's Rest 
'Let Bygones be Bygones/ 
1 * 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



The Watc;hers . 
The Miner's Grave 
Sweet Friend . 
Ofr Father . 
The Pleasant Theme 
Evening .... 

.June 

The Poet .... 
Dying Roses 
Sorrow Unassuaged 
-To Jenny Lind . 
We said Farewell 
The Pet Bird 
The Music of the Waters 
Old Songs .... 
March Winds . 
Little Archie . 
The Dead 
A Bridal Song . 
A Twilight Hour . 
Why do we love? . 
The Youngest Brother 
I have found Flowers . 
Bright Winter Days . 
.Toy in Heaven . 
P^MBALM thk Dead 
.Tesus 



Gone 

Thy Brother shall Arise 

George's Grave 

Our Valley 

A Thought of Death . 

Advice to a Poet 

Lay not thy Harp aside 

To the Mourning Dove 



CONTENTS. Vll 

PAGE 

Dreams of the Dead 100 

The Autumn Time 101 

Are You yet in the Land of the Living? . . 104 

Martha 105 

Little Jane 106 

The Resurrection of Christ 107 

Comfort in Sorrow 109 

To my Sister 110 

A Spring Melody Ill 

To Annie 113 

The Patchwork Quilt 114 

Neva 116 

Mary Lea 117 

Annie's Miniature ' . .119 

The Rainbow at Night 121 

LiLIAS AND I 122 

To my Bereaved Brother 124 

Among Strangers 126 

Christmas Morning 128 

The Morning Breeze 129 

The Nameless Grave 131 

Mother 132 

My Early Home 134 

Half-way Home 136 

To Little Ettie's Parents 138 

Wasted Hours 140 

To One who is 'Halting between Two Opinions.' 141 
'He giveth His Beloved Sleep.' .... 143 

Thoughts .144 

* She is not Dead, but Sleepeth ' .... 146 
'As THY Day, so shall thy Strength be.' . . 148 

My Soldier Love 149 

The Heart's Question 150 

Elegiac Lines 152 

After Awhile 153 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Hidden Away 155 

Jennie 157 

A Tribute 158 

Stolen Treasures 160 

Mary Anne 162 

Thoughts 163 

Earth's Angels 165 

Mementos 166 

Day after Day 167 

Shadows 169 

An April Song 171 

My Work 173 

To MY Brother, J. P. Knox 174 

Rosaline . ' . 176 





SONGS 

OF 

EAELY AND LATER YEARS. 



3>®<C 



FATHER TIME AND HIS CHILDREN. 

AS Time passed on his ceaseless course, 
His children one by one 
To greet him came. And first appeared, 
With stately step and flowing beard, 
His fearless first-born son. 

A snowy mantle was round him thrown, 

His brow was bare and bold ; 
So proud was he that he cared for none ; 
He spoke in a hoarse and hurried tone, 

And his breath was sharp and cold. 



10 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEAitS. 

Few were the words that passed between 

Old Time and his sullen child. 
When the second came with sadder mien, 
In his dull cold face no pride was seen, 

And he seldom, if ever, smiled. 

A coat of glittering mail he wore, 

AVhich rattled with every breeze ; 
A crystal staff in his hand he bore, 
And tears anon from his eyes would pour, 

On his icy cheeks to freeze. 

A hurried greeting, a cold farewell. 

And Time on his journey passed. 
When he heard a sound through the woodland swell, 
And the voice of March on his quick ear fell, 

Like the rush of a stormy blast. 

A merry, merry lad is March, 

With his loud and cheerful song ; 
A ragged cloak o'er his shoulders cast. 
And half unclothed his rugged breast, 
And little he cares in his song to rest. 

For his lungs are stout and strong. 

Rudely he greeted his aged sire. 
Though his heart was kind enough ; 






SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 11 

And the old man smothered his kindling ire, 
And listened a while by a cheerful fire, 
"While his son struck wildly his tuneless lyre 
To numbers wild and rough. 

April came next like a laughing child ; 

And her father's heart was stirred 
As she gathered flowers that were sweet and wild, 
And o'er them by turns she wept and smiled. 
While her happy voice the hours beguiled, 

Like the song of a singing-bird. 

Yet on ho went, for the gentle May 

Was waiting his smile to meet ; 
She scattered blossoms about his way, 
And flung wherever he chose to stray, 
At early morn or close of day, 

Fresh dews to cool his feet. 



A happy, happy time he had, 

While his lovely child was nigh : 
She was never weary and never sad, 
And her merry voice made his old heart glad, 
As the pleasant hours flow by. 

But he might not linger, for blue-eyed June 
Advanced with a smilinjr face ; 



12 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Her form was light, and a brilliant zone 
Of gorgeous hues was round her thrown, 
And she flew with a grace which is all her own 
To her father's fond embrace. 

She led him away over field and hill, 

With lightsome step and free ; 
His bosom with fragrant flowers did fill, 
And early fruits ; and her step was still 
By field and forest and dancing rill. 
And Time for a while had a right good will 

To be as gay as she. 

But she passed away with her beauties rare, 

And her sister, bright July, 
With fruit-stained lips, and golden hair, 
And loosened robe and bosom bare, 
Approached her sire with bustling air, 

For the harvest-time was nigh : 

And she was a gay, industrious maid. 

With little time to waste ; 
But the noon-day rest in the cooling shade 
She loved full well ; or by bright cascade 
To bathe her limbs ; or in forest glade 

The ripe wild fruits to taste. 

The flowers which June had kindly nursed 
She scattered in proud disdain ; 



SONGS OF FA ELY AND LATER YEARS. 13 

But a merry laugh from her red lips burst 
When the bright scythes swung, and she bound the 
first 
Kipe sheaves of the yellow grain. 

Old Time loved dearly his bright-eyed child, 

Though rest she gave him not. 
He must follow her steps wherever she toiled, 
Till his sluggish veins with fever boiled, 

For the sun was fierce and hot. 

But the merry harvest-time was gone, 

And Time, with weary sigh 
And listless step, moved slowly on. 
While August came o'er the dew-gemmed lawn 

With half-shut, drowsy eye. 

AVith languid step did August come 

And look of weariness ; 
Her voice was soft as the wild bee's hum, 
And thin, as if woven in spider's loom, 

Was her light, unbelted dress. 

Some flowers of bright and varied hue 

Among her hair she wove, 
Scarlet, and yellow, and brilliant blue, 
And often she bathed them in pearly dew, 

In meadow, field, and grove. 



14 SOXGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

But the bright flowers drooped on her sultry brow, 

And her sunny face grew wan, 
For she heard a voice that whispered low 
And soft, as the streamlet's gentle flow, 
" Your flowers must die in their summer glow. 

For September is coming on." 

She passed, and her sunburnt brother sprung 

To his father's side with glee ; 
His clear, shrill voice through the valleys rung, 
And the notes that fell from his silvery tongue 
Were gladly welcomed by old and young. 

For a cheerful youth was he. 

A heavy load did September bear, 

Though his step was firm and light ; 
The purple plum, the yellow pear, 
The ripe, red peach with its fragrance rare ; 
And he scattered his treasures here and there 

Like the gifts of a fairy sprite. 

No wonder if Father Time should prize 

His generous-hearted boy ; 
But Time (as the proverb hath it) flies, 
And with hurried step he passed, and sighs 
Like mortals heave when a bright hope dies. 

Or they miss some promised joy. 



SONGS OF EARLY AX D LATER YEARS. 15 

Next came October, richly clad 

In robes of gorgeous dye ; 
A regal crown adorned his head 
Of purple grapes ; and round him spread 
Were the ripened fruits the trees had shed, 

For the vintage-time was nigh. 

He looked about as if to see 

What work was left to do ; 
He chased away the humming bee, 
And the summer bird, and merrily 
Shook down the ripe nuts from the tree, 

Nor seemed his work to rue. 



But yet his work was hardly done, 
When November cried in wrath, 

" You wear a robe, you have need of none ; 

I have shivered for years for lack of one. 

As, year by year, my course I 've run 
Along this dreary path." 

He was indeed a shivering wight, 

Nor robe, nor cloak he wore, 
He grasped October's mantle bright, 
Tore it apart with ruthless might. 
And scattered it in sport or spite 

His father's face before. 



16 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

The squirrel lie chased to its winter rest 

Within the hollow tree, 
And the serpent crawled to his earthy nest, 
For the wind blew cold from the bleak north-west, 

And averse to cold is he. 



And Time went on with a quicker pace, 

But a frown upon his brow ; 
Oh, how could he wear a smiling face. 
When a bloomless world was his dwelling-place, 
For he sought in vain to find a trace 

Of his favorite beauties now. 

December met him with noisy shout, 
Like a school-boy's heedless mirth, 

And he rung his merry welcome out : 

*' I am glad to find you so hale and stout; 

But what, old man, have you been about 
As you journeyed around the earth ? " 

Said Time : " I have seen my children all, 

From the eldest down to thee ; 
I have seen flowers bloom at the gentle call 
Of one, by another's breath to fall, 
And the bridal robe, and the mourning pall 

Are neither new to me. 



SOXGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS- 17 

The youngest one of all art thou: 

A jolly boy thou art ; 
But thy eldest brother's stormy brow 
Is thine, and his robe of frost and snow. 
I would call you twins if it were not so, 

That you 're numbered so far apart." 

December laughed, and his white locks shook 

As he rushed to his brother's side ; 
The stern one little sport could brook. 
But him by the hand he kindly took, 
And his chilly face wore a gentler look 

As December hoarsely cried : 

" We are much alike, our father said, 

In truth, I believe it too. 
For the selfsame covering decks our bed, 
So here on your breast I '11 lean my head. 
And we will be brothers linked and wed 

In bonds of friendship true." 

And so his frigid form he flung 

On his brother's icy breast. 
And a wild and fitful song he sung, 
Whose echoes from hill and valley rung 

As he sank to his quiet rest. 
2* li 







THE SPIRIT- VOICE. 

INHERE is a low voice ever whispering 
Something, to which my spirit still must 
hearken ; 
When sadness o'er me throws her gloomy wing, 
And youth's bright visions round me fade and 
darken ; 
Softly it says, " Thy hopes of happiness 

Were based on earth, 'tis therefore that they 
perish ; 
But, lo ! there is a hope of perfect bliss — 

This hope alone 't is right for thee to cherish." 

When with the gay in scenes of mirthfulness 

I've joined, I've heard that voice, half stifled, 
sighing : 
" What consolation wilt thou draw from this, 

What calm delight, what peace when thou art 
dying?" 

18 



SONGS OF FA I? LY AND LATFR VFAR'S. 19 

And sudden tears have risen to my eyes, 

And sadly from my lips the smile has faded, 

And some, perchance, have heard a low-breathed sigh, 
And wondered what my happiness had shaded. 

And oft when sleep my weary eyes has fled. 

And stars from their far azure thrones are smiling, 
And sweet thoughts of the absent and the dead 

Come o'er my heart its weariness beguiling ; 
With sweet and tender force that voice recalls 

The last fond wish, of one long since departed. 
The dearest wish that heart could offer, all 

The happiness which waits the lowly-hearted. 

Where'er I am, those soft, low tones I hear. 

For ever to my saddened spirit telling: 
" Thou canst not rest till thou hast cast thy care 

On Him who hath in humble hearts a dwelling." 
This is the Spirit- Voice, this thought alone 

Has power to turn each earth-born joy to sadness ; 
And till the soul its gentle teachings own, 

It ever lacks the one pure fount of gladness. 



El^s^ 





A SUNSET THOUGHT OF HEAVEN. 

IF brighter than that gorgeous cloud, 
The golden gates of Heaven shine, 
Scarce could I shrink from Death's pale shroud, 

Or dread his cold lips pressed to mine, 
So I might soar away, to see 
The home of rest prepared for me. 

Far sweeter than the richest notes 
On earth to cheer our spirits given. 

Must be the ceaseless hymn which floats 
From angels' golden harps in heaven ; 

And who would wish to linger long 

From that blest land of holy song ? 



Far stronger than the dearest ties 

Which hold our yearning hearts below, 

Is that pure love which bids us rise, 
The perfect will of God to know ; 

And can the soul contented rest 

Away from him who loves us best? 



20 




THE CHILD'S PRAYER. 

OFTEN and often through the day, 
A little one murmurs, " I need to pray ; " 
And folding his hands by his mother's knee. 
With reverent look, says, " You talk me," 
For though he knows of a " need " to pray. 
He cannot remember what to say. 
The mother teaches her childhood's prayer 
To the little one kneeling so meekly there. 
And prays in her heart that his feet may be 
Kept from the paths of iniquity ; 
That, if spared to tread this world's rough way, 
He may not forget his need to pray. 



THE SPRING-TIME. 

HOW time wears on ! the spring is here 
With gentle winds' and rainbow showers, 
The genius of the early year 

Moves gaily through earth's faded bowers, 

21 



22 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And where she breathes or treads, appear 
Unfoldmg leaves and budding flowers. 

The vine jDiits forth the tender leaf, 

The hyacinth its fragrant bells, 
And flowers whose life is bright as brief, 

Look up from sunny banks and dells ; 
The wind-flower's fragile buds unfold, 

The violet from the moss peeps up. 
While 'mongst the grass, like drops of gold, 

Gleams out the shining buttercup. 

How beautiful the spring-time is ? 

No shadow on earth's beauty lies ; 
But, ah! how few the hearts which miss, 

No smiling lips, no loving eyes 
Whose presence was a source of bliss, 

When last spring sunshine lit the skies ! 

We do not miss a single bird 

Which gladdened us with music then, 

Their joyous caroling is heard 

In orchard, woodland, grove and glen ; 

But voices breathing gentle words 
We miss, and may not hear again. 

Young buds may burst, and wild-birds sing, 
The world look beautiful and gay ; 

But some who gladly hailed the spring 
A year ago, have passed away ; 



SONGS OF FAKLY AND LATFR YEARS. 23 

Some ill the rosy summer-tide, 

And some when autumn-leaves were bright, 
No matter how, or when, they died, 

We miss them now; when falls the light 
And glory of the opening year 
Upon our way — they are not here ! 



THE CHILD'S LAST SMILE. 

WHY smiled the babe in its dying hour ? 
It had not smiled in many weeks ; 
It had faded away like a blighted flower. 

The pallor of death was upon its cheeks ; 
Its eyes were glazing, and yet it smiled ; 
And sweet was the look of the dying child. 

Why did it smile? It had suffered much, 
Weak w^as its frame, and its anguish strong ; 

Did it smile a welcome to death's cold touch, 
Knowing its sorrow should cease ere long ? 

Nay ! for that gentle child knew not 

That pain and death are the " common lot." 

But 't was not death that the infant felt, 

When the smile stole over its pale, sweet face. 

For an angel's hand the stroke had dealt ; 
The babe was clasped in his bright embrace, 

And the smile was the shadow of glory cast 

On the faded clay, as the spirit pass'd. 




OH, NAME HER NOT! 

OH! name her not in tones as light 
As those in which we used to speak 
When her young hopes, and ours, were bright 

It may be foolish, may be weak, 
But yet I cannot bear to hear 
So lightly breathed, a name so dear. 

Yet speak of her, but let your words 

Fall softly as the nightly dews 
On trembling rose-leaves, zephyr-stirred ; 

Soft winds and dewdrops cannot bruise 
The frailest leaf, but dancing showers 
Fall heavily on tender flowers. 

And thus that name, breathed carelessly, 
Fresh anguish in my heart awakes, 

The heart which keepeth lovingly 
Her memory, which never breaks 

The silence gathering, like a spell, 

Around the name it loves so well. 

21 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 25 

Without a fluttering throb, a sigh, 
A quivering pulse, a sinking breath, 

So deep hath been ray sympathy 

With her who sleeps the sleep of death. 

The sound of her beloved name 

Thrills sadly throu"h my heart and frame. 



THE GATHERED ROSE. 

" She died in beauty like the rose hloicn from its parent stem," 

SHALL we weep for the blossom which passed 
away, 
While the early dew on its young leaves lay ? 
Can we w^ish it had bided a longer time, 
Away from the light of its native clime? 
Can we mourn in the depths of our selfish love, 
That angels have borne it to bloom above ? 

Fair was the blossom, and pure and meek, 
'T is ever such that the angels seek ; 
When they come to cull from this world of ours, 
Flowers to transplant into Eden's bowers ; 
They saw our rose in its beauty here, 
And bore it up to their own bright sphere. 
3 



26 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

We have Avept for the lovely thing, 
Snatched from our sight in life's early spring ; 
We have mourned as fond hearts will mourn, 
When a precious thing from their clasp is torn ; 
When the light that smiled on their path for years, 
Is suddenly quenched in a tide of tears. 

Wild was our grief, but the storm is hushed. 
And tears which once like a torrent gushed. 
Fall gently now like the summer dew. 
And Hope's sweet sunshine is smiling through ; 
The rose was plucked by a gentle hand, 
And it lives and blooms in a brischter land. 









THOUGHTS OF AGE. 

''Age is dark and nnloveli/." — OssiAN. 

SHALL old age come upon me ? Shall my eye 
Grow dim ? and weak and tremulous my hand ? 
Shall the glad music of my spirit die 

Before I pass into the spirit-land? 
Shall I grow weary of my home below, 

And be forever longing to depart? 
And shall the lines which deepen on my brow 

Be but the shadows from a withered heart ? 
Shall I forget the songs I love to sing, 

Nor heed the beauties of this lovely world ? 
Shall every bright, and every pleasant thing, 

Grow charmless when the wing of youth is furled ? 

It may be so — I cannot know my lot ; 

It may be age and weariness and care ; 
But, oh ! I trust that memory may not 
^^Prove traitor to her trust, for she doth bear 

27 



28 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER FEARS 

The golden key, which only can undo 

The treasure-house of thought ; if that be lost, 
Old age indeed is desolate, and few 

The joys by which its w^eary way is cross'd ; 
And there are memories I would retain, 

Even when the hand of Time has marked my face, 
And scenes which I in thought would view again, 

When far removed may be my dwelling-place. 
And I would tune even till my latest breath 

The harp whose trembling tones a few may love. 
Then calmly yield it to the hand of death, 

And claim it tuned to purer notes above. 

But why thus muse upon the time to come? 

Why dream of drooping age, with furrowed brow ? 
May not the young flower wither in its bloom. 

The seeds of death be planted even now ? 
Who knoweth if this frail frame may withstand 

The chilling blights and storms of many years ; 
And may not rather to death's kindly hand 

Give up its harp unrusted yet by tears? 
If this my fate, one only prayer be mine : 

If life's young blossom wither ere its noon, 
Be mine the holy trust and love divine, 

AVhich maketh early death a blessed boon ! 



'#. 




TO MY FRIENDS. 

"TTOU must not praise the songs I sing, 
JL And call them mine. You do not praise 
The wind-harp wlien its quivering string, 
Swept by the wandering zephyr's wing, 
Makes music sweeter than my lays. 

All praise to Him who framed my heart 

To utter music, not its own. 
I but perform the lowly part 

The harp does, when it gives the tone 
He wills, whose fingers touch the strings. 
My will is strong in other things ; 
But from my heart these songs gush up 
Like odor from the blossom's cup. 

3* 29 




I 




THE SUMMER WIND. 

WIND of tlie summer, whence dost tliou come? 
AVbence is the sweetness that burdens tliy wings? 
Song of the wihl-bird, and bee's happy hum, 

Where hast thou gathered these beautiful tilings? 

" I had my birth in a bower of the south, 

Waking to life in a bright orange-tree ; 
Lightly I danced in the freshness of youth, 

Sported alike with bird, blossom, and bee ; 
Gayly I roamed through those beautiful bowers. 

Pleasantly sang as I wandered along ; 
The incense I bear is the gift of the flowers. 

For the praises I offered to each in my song. 

" I told the Clematis in whisperings low. 

That she was the fairest and purest of earth, 

And the beautiful vestal was flattered, I know. 
Though she told me that she was of heavenly birth. 

I sang to the red rose a passionate strain 

Of love, while I tenderly pressed her fresh lip, 

:■!() 



S(fX(;S OF /';.!/.'/>)' .1A7>» LATl'lh' VNARS. M 

And I)1'IisIi<mI IVoiu her presence, wilh secinini;' disdain, 
Tlu! l)('(^ (Iiiii IkuI ('Dine ol' her sweetness to sip. 

" Her pale peerless sister witii r(>vereiit air 

I kissed, while I called \\v.r my own ^'cntle l)ri(l(^, 
Rested {iwhil(^ in her bosom so lair, 

Tlien to the lily I nusi'rily hied. 
Her for her love I most earnestly sned, 

Jler did I win witli my tenden^st sigh. 
Flower al'ttu* iiower thus lij^htly I 'v(^ woo(m1, 

Flattered iiwdiile, and tlicn hill them lo die. 

" I 've play(>{l with the shadowy vapors tlnit rise, 

Wreathinu;; the tops of the verdant old liill-fl — 
l*'lnn^ ovei- tlu', lake's <(uiet l)osom my sighs, 

Chanttid in (concert with I'ountains and rills, 
l^eauty's warm (dieek I have carelessly kissed, 

Tossed her light curls in my I'rorKisome play, 
And caught Ium* light tones as she laughingly wished 

That the soi'l snnnner breezes forever would stay. 

"Into an invalid's clnunber I stole, 

Bearing (he fragranc(^ of numberless Howcm'S ; 

And won from its sadness tin; pain-shadowed soul, 
And h^ft the heart dreaming of happier hours. 

Through th(^ dim graicjs of a prison I passed, 

Whisj)ered (h(» captive of kindreil and lionu* — • 



32 SOX as Of EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Oh ! how he longed from his cramped limbs to cast 
The fetters, and free as the summer wind roam. 

Round his pale forehead I soothingly swept, 

Waking sweet memories, sparkling through tears ; 

Till calmly and sweetly the weary one slept, 

And wandered in dreams to the joys of past years. 

*' On my light pinions I 've heavenward borne 

Sweet aspirations of innocent hearts ; 
Prayers of sad spirits that inwardly mourn, 

Pierced by Adversity's slow-killing darts. 
Voice of the dying, and mourner's low dirge, 

Childhood's gay laughter, and youth's happy mirth, 
Music of streams, and the ocean's wild surge, 

All have been mine as I rambled o'er earth. 
Mortal! I 've answered thy questionings all, 

Whither I go may be harder to tell ; 
But I know I shall pass, ere the summer leaves fall, 

In some land, where the flowers never wither, to 
dwell." 



x^^ 



^.>#/ 







MALINA. 

WE laid her gently on her bed, 
Her small hands folded on her breast, 
And spoke in whispers, as afraid 

That we might break her peaceful rest : 
So lifelike seemed her sleep — the hue 

Of life indeed had passed away ; 

But half unveiled, her eyes' soft bhie 

Beneath the drooping lashes lay. 

A smile's sweet shadow dimpled yet 

Her lip and cheek, though cold as snow ; 
As when the sun, in glory set, 

Leaves on the sky his golden glow. 
We smoothed the curls of sunny hair, 

That fell around her pale young face ; 
And never saw I aught so fair 

Whereon death's hand had left its trace. 

Death sometimes comes in gentle form — 
He wore an angel's beauty there ; 

C ■ ^ a.T 



34 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

While flowed life's current fast and warm, 
The child had seemed less sweetly fair 

Than when beneath the shroud's pale fold 
8he lay in slumber calm and cold. . 



THE FIRST KISS. 

l^AY, ask me not — how could I bring 
XM My lips to rest on manhood's brow? 
A maiden may not lightly fling 

Her timid nature ofl" — and thou, 
Caressed as thou art wont to be, 

What were a kiss of mine to thee ? 

"And thou wouldst tliink that I had pressed 
Another cheek as soon as thine ; 

Should I allow my lips to rest 

(Even lightly as on hallowed shrine 

The trembling lips of devotee) 

On thine, as pledge of love to thee? " 

But then some words of gentle sound 
Were whispered to the maiden's heart ; 

She could not bear his love to wound, — 
The hour had come when they must part ; 

And she was young, and fond, and true, — 
What could the gentle maiden do ? 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 35 

The spell is broken — she has laid 
Her trembling lips against his cheek ; 

On hers there is a deeper shade 

Of crimson ; but she does not speak. 

Her heart is hushed, her voice is still, 
'T is given half against her will ! 



A CHILD'S THOUGHTS. 

MOTHER ! you say there is no more night 
In that far land where the angels dwell ; 
Are they never weary of so much light? 
I love the day-time and sunshine well, 
But gladly I welcome the evening hour, 
When the cool dew falls on the closing flower. 

" Then I can rest from my long day's play. 

It is not so when the sunshine falls 
Warm and bright, as it does to-day. 

Through the windows, and over the walls. 
My eyes grow tired of the dazzling glare ; 
But I cannot sleep — will it be so there ? " 



36 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

" Nay ! thou wilt never grow weary, child, 
Of the holy light of that happy clime ; 

Though the sun hath never so brightly smiled 
On us in the beautiful summer-time 

As doth the light of ' Our Father's ' face, 

AVhich fiUeth with glory that blessed place. 

" Thou wilt wish for the hush of night no more, 
Nor long to slumber as thou dost now ; 

Weariness comes not to that fair shore, 
Beauty and health never leave the brow. 

But fair and pure, as the flowers we love. 

Are all who dwell in that home above." 

" But, mother ! you know that the blossoms die, 
Some in the midst of the summer hours. 

And some when frosts on the valleys lie. 
You told me once, that as died the flowers 

We all must die ; but it seems to me 

That last year's flowers were the same I see. 

" Is it so, dear mother ? And if it be. 

Will the dead come back as the blossoms do? 

"Nay, listen, my child. Each plant and tree 
Has blossoms alike in form and hue 

To those which it last year bore and shed : 

They difler thus from the human dead. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 37 

" They come not back — they shall rise again 
In fairer forms than on earth they wore, 

And, free from fear of decay or pain, 
Shall live in heaven for evermore. 

We seem to pass like the flowers ; but we 

Only put off" our mortality, 

To claim it again when it shall be made 

Holy, immortal, no more to fade ! " 



SUMMER TWILIGHT. 

OH, hoAV I love to steal away 
And spend an hour in silent musing ! 
Just when the rosy smile of day 

In twilight shades its light is losing. 
For then a pure and holy spell 

On every earthly scene seems dwelling ; 
And from each woody hill and dell 
Soft, faint-toned melodies are swelling. 

They are not like the gay, glad songs 
Through field and forest daily ringing ; 

But pensively they float along, 

Like wearied ones sweet vespers singing. 

And stars come stealing gently forth. 
In dewy brightness calmly beaming ; 

And dew-drops thicken o'er the earth 

Like pearls among the dark leaves gleaming. 
4 



38 SOXGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

At such an hour my spirit turns 

Away from scenes of mirth and pleasure; 
For in its secret depths it yearns 

For purer joys and richer treasure. 
The twilight hour ! the silent prayer 

Of thousands at this hour ascending, 
Like incense on the dewy air, 

With angel songs is sweetly blending. 
The twilight hour ! how mild and calm 

It woos the soul to meek deyotion, 
And sheds around a soothing balm 

Which stills each day-born, wild emotion. 



HEREAFTER. 

John xiii. 7. 



WHEN mists are darkening 'round our way, 
And clouds hang threatening oyerhead ; 
When from our hearts has died the ray 
Of light which earthly comforts shed; 
When all without is dark and drear. 
And all within is gloom and fear ; 

How sweet the pitying yoice which saith 
in peaceful whispers to the soul : 



SOIiGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 39 

" Doubt not, oil ! thou of little faith, 
These things are all in my control, 
If what I do thou knowest not here. 
Hereafter I will make it clear." 

How sweet to know that every ill, 
AVhich seems so grievous now to bear, 

Obeys the mandate of His will 

Who kindly makes our life his care ; 

That though mysterious and severe, 

"Hereafter" he will make it clear ! 

What comfort to the stricken heart 
The dear Eedeemer's words convey ! 

Though now we only " know in part," 
His hand will take the veil away, 

And, knowing, " even as we are known," 

We soon shall stand before his throne. 



LOIS. 

MY heart has floral emblems for the fair 
And lovely of earth's children ; thine shall be 
That rose whose bursting is so beautiful. 
We almost wish it might not quite unfold ; 
Yet with its slow unfolding charms us so, 
And pours such odorous incense from its warm 



40 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Unclosing heart, that while we drink it in 
Our first wish is forgotten. Such hath been, 
Methinks, thy girlhood. Such is now the bloom 
And beauty of thy ripened womanhood. 



SUNSET AND TWILIGHT. 

rpHE sun hath gone down in the crimsoned West, 
J- The dove hath flown to her lonely nest, 
And the golden light of departing day 
Tinges the mountains far away, 
Till their green sides glow with a brilliant flush, 
Like a calm face lighting with love's warm blush. 

The sky is bright as the light that gleams 
From the sparkling waves of sunlit streams, 
And the rosy clouds are soft and light 
As the dreams which visit our hearts by night. 
The soft west wind as it murmurs by 
With its fragrant breath and dreamy sigh, 
Makes music sweet as the pleasant tones 
Which fall from the lips of loving ones, — 
Tones which leave in the inmost heart 
Gentle echoes which never depart. 

The eye which rests on a scene so bright 
Never can tire of the gorgeous sight : 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 41 

The soul is filled with a rapture pure, 

That mortal senses can scarce endure ; 

The pulses throb, and the full heart longs 

To frame its bliss into thrilling songs, 

The glorious light to its depth to win, 

And drink the spirit of beauty in ; 

Embody each delicate tint and glow. 

And breathe it in music soft and low : 

But its powers are bound in too bright a chain — • 

Lips cannot utter that spirit strain. 

The bright hues fade, and a purple mist 
Creeps o'er the hills which the sunbeams kissed ; 
The thin clouds melt from their mellow hue, 
And lose themselves in the deep, dark blue ; 
While shadows steal o'er the quiet scene, 
Like fairy forms from the woodland green. 
The day-blooms softly are folding up 
The glowing leaves of each tiny cup ; 
Quietly closing each drowsy eye. 
Till light returns to the eastern sky, 
While dew-drops gather like gems of light, 
In hearts of blossoms which scent the night. 

The stars come out in the arch above. 

Pure lamps lit up by the hand of love ; 

And earthward spreading their shining wings, 

As if to vie with those radiant things ; 
4-^ 



42 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

The fireflies glitter aud gleam and glance, 
And seem to move in a mystic dance ; 
The sound of streams and the scent of flowers 
Seem sweeter now than at other hours, 
And the soul grows calm in the twilight air, 
And bows itself in unspoken prayer. 



HE SPARETH ME. 

HE spareth me from day to day, — 
How great His mercy and His grace, — 
Though I have wandered far astray, 

Nor sought the "hidings of His face." 
Too long ray erring soul her trust 

Has placed on earthly things ; my heart 
Has clung too fondly to the dust, — 
Has been too loth with earth to part. 

And yet He spareth me! He hath 

Unwearied watch about me kept ; 
His hand by day has marked my path, 

And been my safety while I slept. 
He spareth me, while others fall 

Beneath the fatal hand of death ; 
And none resists the dreaded call. 

Which bids them yield their fleeting breath. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 43 

He spareth me ! Why doth He spare 

This feeble frame of fragile clay ? 
Why doth He for the wanderer care, 

Who erreth from the living way ? 
He spareth me that I may turn 

And seek the grace He waits to give, 
For every sin and folly mourn, 

And henceforth to His glory live. 



LEGEND OF THE WELL. 

DOWN, far down, in a deep old well, 
The water lay calm and still ; 
Unmoved by the winds, whose gentle swell 

Ruffled the rippling rill ; 
It lay and looked up at some sweet wild-flowers 

That clustered around the brink. 
Bending their heads through the sunny hours 
As if longing to bathe or drink. 

The water sent up his gentle song : 

"Ye beautiful things, come hither, 
Ye shall rest on my bosom the whole day long, 

And your beauty shall never wither." 
" It is far, far down," the flowers replied, 

"The rambling winds would miss us. 
And the light of the stars at eventide 

Could never come there to kiss us." 



44 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

" Come down," said the water, " the starbeams fall 

On my quiet bosom nightly ; 
And among the moss on the green old wall 

The glowworm sparkles brightly." 
The flowers looked down with their meek blue eyes, 

And whispered to one another — 
" Shall we leave the light of these sunny skies, 

And the breast of Earth, our mother ? 
Sliall we wander dow^n by those damp, cold walls. 

Where the dark-green moss is clinging. 
Where the heat of the sunshine never falls. 

And we '11 hear no blithe birds singing ? 
Shall we leave the dews of the twilight dim. 

Whose pearls on our leaves are gleaming ; 
And listen no more to the wild bee's hymn. 

As he sinks to his nightly dreaming ? " 

"Oh! come," said the water, "there's music here 

From the harps of the fairies swelling ; 
And dark and dim though the path appear. 

There 's light in my moss-girt dwelling." 
The flowers gazed on, and the water smiled. 

They seemed so fondly stooping, 
But his winning words had their life beguiled. 

Their heads in death were drooping. 

The pale leaves dropped from the withering stems. 
And through the dim space fluttered ; 



SONGS OF EART.Y AND LATER YEARS. 45 

The water treasured the scattered gems, 

And a sad, sweet sigh it uttered ; 
And then from a thousand silvery strings 

A plaintive sound came ringing — 
The fairy's dirge for the lovely things. 

They had marked by the well-side springing. 



A MOTHER TO HER DYING CHILD. 

LIFE has no weary years for thee, 
No rugged paths for thee to tread ; 
For o'er thy pillow lovingly 

An angel's snowy wings are spread, 
A blessed angel sent by Love, 
To bear thee to his home above. 

Thy frame is wearied out with pain. 
And pale and wasted is thy cheek, 

Where not a hue of health remains ; 
Thy eyes are dim, thy pulse is weak. 

And feebly comes the fluttering breath, 

Which tells the near approach of death. 

I weep, I cannot else than weep. 
To see thee meekly suffering on ; 



4Q 



SONGS OF FAIRLY AND LATER YEARS. 

When love alone its watch must keep, 
The hope of health, of life, is gone, 
And mournfully I wait the last 
Faint sigh, which tells me all is past. 

Aye, mournfully, although I know 
That death will bring relief to thee ; 

That while thy mother's tears will flow, 
Thou wilt, rejoicing to be free, 

Unfold thy unseen wings, and rise 

With songs of gladness to the skies. 

And thisjias almost dried my tears. 

To know that He who loves thee best. 
Has called thee in thy early years 

To perfect and eternal rest. 
And sent a messenger who waits 
To lead thee through the golden gates ; 
And though my lonely heart will ache, 
I will be glad for thy sweet sake ! 





THE SPIRIT'S REST. 

WHEN hath the Spirit rest? 
When the morning of life is fresh and fair, 
And we rest in peace on our mother's breast, 

And all our joys are centred there ? 
Yes, then it hath rest ; but it lasts not long, 
Ere other thoughts on our bosoms throng. 

When hath the Spirit rest ? 

When the hopes of youth around us shine, 
And fancy's wild, gay dreams invest 

Life with a radiance half divine? 
Nay, then the Spirit cannot rest, 
But ever is seeking to be more blest. 



When hath the Spirit rest ? 

When love throws over it his rosy wing. 
And the fond, trusting heart is blest 

With the love of some fair mortal thing ? 
Aye ! then it rests for a little while, 
Till the spell is broken by death or guile. 

47 



48 SONGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

When hath the Spirit rest ? 

When wealth pours on us her golden store, 
And for the proud ambitious breast 

Fame yields her meed ; what lack we more ? 
Not then : for how can the Spirit rest 
With the care of wealth and pride oppressed ? 

When hath the Spirit rest? 

When the lights have gone out in the halls of 
mirth, 
When joy is no longer the glad heart's guest, 

And we turn away from the hopes of earth. 
And bow our pride to the chastening rod — 
Then we find peace and rest in God. 



"LET BYGONES BE BYGONES." 

Scottish Saying. 

LET bygones be bygones : 't is idle to grieve 
For things which are past, which we cannot 
retrieve ; 
If the past has been wasted, the present is ours : 
Shall Ave strew it with thorns, or adorn it with 

flowers ? 
Let bygones be bygones, repent for the past, 
But let not its shade o'er the present be cast. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 49 

Let bygones be bygones : have friends been unkind, 

Or carelessly wounded a sensitive mind ? 

Forgive ; it is better the wrong to forgive 

And forget, than in galling remembrance to live. 

Let bygones be bygones, 't is folly to nurse 

A wound, which if fostered grows deeper and worse. 

If joy hath smiled on thee, if wealth has been thine, 
Then left thee for others their garlands to twine ; 
If thou hast been touched by adversity's blast. 
Oh ! dwell not too much on the happier past. 
Let bygones be bygones, those blessings God lent. 
His hand now withholds them, and be thou content. 



THE Watchers. 

WEARILY watching by night and day. 
They counted the hours as they passed away, 
Till their eyes grew dim and their hearts grew weak, 
And thin and wan was each wasted cheek, 
And sad their voices and soft their tread. 
As theirs who move round a dying bed. 

Spring had come with her gift of flowers. 
Her singing birds and her sunny hours ; 



50 SOIiGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

The skies were bright, and the streams were free, 
The air was full of sweet harmony, 
The earth was spread with its brightest green, 
And Nature smiled on the brilliant scene. 

But the budding flowers, and the sun's warm light, 

Charmless burst on their aching sight. 

For the light was barred from the quiet room 

Of one who languished in pain and gloom ; 

And sweetest blossoms no balm could shed 

For the fevered lip and the aching head. 

Weary vigils those watchers kept : 

Lonely, by turns, they watched or slept. 

Or watched together, (they were but twain,) 

In anxious grief by the couch of pain ; 

But the grief was hushed in each sorrowing breast. 

For a sigh might break that uncertain rest. 

Wearily passed the hours away, 
From fall of night till the dawn of day, 
And the day was dull, as the night w^as lone, 
To the hearts w^hence joy had sadly flown. 
Where the pulses of hope beat sad and low, 
And the spirits had lost their joyous flow. 

But the darkest hour of the drearest night 
Gives place to the cheerful morning light ; 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 51 

And the shade of fear, which had long o'ercast 
Those faithful hearts, was dispelled at last, — 
They smiled again through dimming tears. 
While Hope sang sweetly of coming years ; 

Of bliss made bright by the test of pain — 
They had not suffered and watched in vain ; 
The boon was granted, which many a prayer 
Had asked in anguish, almost despair ; 
And songs of joy from their glad lips poured. 
For the loving friend to their hearts restored. 



THE MINER'S GRAVE. 

rpHERE is a lone and lowly grave 
-L In the far-off golden land. 
Where sunburnt miners laid to rest 

One of their toiling band ; 
It is a wild and lonely spot. 

Far from his home away, 
But thitherward a few fond hearts 

Are turning day by day. 

A widowed wife, an orphan child. 

And sisters kind and true, 
Shed many a tear for him whose grave 

Their eyes may never view. 



52 SONGS OF EABLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And there is one who loved him well 
When youth was on his brow — 

It is not wrong for her to dwell 
Upon his memory now. 

In life another claimed his love, 

His name another wore ; 
81ie hushed her love within her heart, 

And Hope sang there no more. 
But when the heavy sods were spread 

'Twixt him and human ties, 
What need was there to leave unshed 

The tears which dimmed her eyes ? 

Within her heart for many a year 

Life's withered hopes have lain, 
Yet to the hearts who hold her dear 

She has not lived in vain ; 
Her smile has been the brightest smile, 

Her voice the sweetest voice. 
Within her home, and many a heart 

Her kindly deeds rejoice. 
But none, save one who knew her best 

Since girlhood's early years, 
Has guessed that o'er that far-off grave 

Her true heart sheddeth tears. 




SWEET FRIEND. 

THIS long since I saw thy face, sweet friend! 

-L Aye, many a year has flown 
Since I met the light of thy loving eyes, 

And thy warm lips pressed my own ; 
And many a change has come, sweet friend ! 

Many a change to me. 
While still I await the greater change 

Which long ago came to thee. 

I have been growing old, sweet friend ! 

My locks are streaked with gray ; 
But there 's not a silver thread in thine, 

Thy youth never passed away. 
Treading a rough and toilsome way, 

I 've reached life's afternoon ; 
And I cannot weep to-day for one 

Who went to rest so soon. 
5* 53 



64 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Oh, it is well with thee, sweet friend ! 

A blessed home is thine. 
And sorrow and care cannot enter there, 

As they have entered mine ; 
Thy life on earth was bright and brief, 

Thy rest was early won ; 
And sweet to me is the hope of rest. 

When all my work is done. 



OUR FATHER. 



HOW kind is our Father! how tender his love! 
He visits us daily with gifts from above ; 
He giveth us shelter, and raiment, and bread, 
While many are homeless, and cold, and unfed. 

He gives us, moreover, the word of his grace, 
To guide us to Heaven, that glorious place. 
Where the walls are of crystal, the streets are of gold. 
And the ' King in his beauty ' our eyes shall behold. 

How sweet is the thought, when this life shall be o'er. 
There 's a home where affliction can reach us no more ; 
Where never can enter temptation or pain. 
And we never can grieve our kind Father again. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 55 

Oh, let us be thankful to God for his care, 
And cheerfully mingle thanksgiving with prayer ; 
Let us love him, and trust him, and walk in his ways, 
Till we enter that home where our work shall be praise. 



THE PLEASANT THEME. 

OF heaven and angels I would sing, 
For then it is that music flows, 
As freely from my soul-harp's strings. 

As odor from a dewy rose ; 
Oh ! 't is a sweet and pleasant theme. 

And never, never wearies me, — 
Wrapped in a bright and starry dream 

Of glory, love, and harmony, 
My spirit loves to fold her wings, 

And close her eyes on earthly things. 

But, ah ! this weak mortality, 

This taint of sin upon the soul, 
With tyrant force they hurry me 

Back to the sinful world's control. 
Ah ! sinful world ! thy wiles have led 

My struggling soul too oft astray, 
Thy light too frequently has shed 

A dazzling glare upon my way, 



56 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Which hid from my bewildered eyes 
A light more beautiful and soft, 

The glorious light of Paradise ; 

And, oh ! vain world ! for thee too oft 

The loftier strains I should have sung 

Have died in silence on my tongue. 

I did not dare with lips profane. 

Profaned with worldliness and pride, 
To breathe the spirit-kindling strain 

Which sadly in my bosom died. 
But I will break thy mighty spell ; 

My spirit must, and will be free, 
To sing the themes it loves so well. 

And I shall sing them joyfully ; 
While the sweet angels Faith and Love 

Shall bring me visions of the blest. 
And bear my trembling notes above. 

Where Hope has whispered I may rest, 
Beneath the shadow of the Throne 
Where light and glory reign alone. 




v-^^:^ 




EVENING. 

THE evening calm on nature's breast 
Hath fallen ; the voice of living things 
Is hushed in quietness to rest. 

The birds have folded up their wings, 
The wild bee slumbers in the heart 

Of half-shut blossoms, whose meek eyes 
(Whence drops of dewy brightness start) 
Turn dreamily toward the skies. 

The winds have ceased their wonted mirth, 

As if they too had fallen asleep 
Amid the holy hush of earth, 

While smiling stars their night-watch keep ; 
Their pale rays kiss the dimpling wave 

With trembling light, like broken gems, 
Where crystal waters rippling lave 

The water-lilies' drooping stems. 

O'er valley, village, field and wood, 
The quiet wing of peace is thrown ; 

57 



68 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And in the woodland solitude 

Sits Silence, on her shadowy throne. 
At this still hour sweet fancies steal 

With quiet music through the heart, 
Like scented breezes which we feel 

And love, but know not whence they start. 
It may be angel-bands are near, 

As sang the bard of heavenly things — 
Whose voices to the outward ear 

Should not, but in soft whisperings, 
Speak to the soul in language such 
As may its holiest feelings touch. 
And 'mid its hallowed depths be sung. 
But may not fall from mortal tongue. 



JUNE. 

OH ! is not earth a place of loveliness 
In this sweet season of green leaves and flowers? 
One's heart is burdened with the sweet excess 

Of bliss unspoken — the delicious hours 
Glide by on fragrant jDinions, with a sound 

Of minstrelsy exquisite, and the light 
Of blue and sunny skies, which fling around 
Their mellow radiance. Every moment's flight 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 59 

Is marked by something beautiful and new, 

Some bright-winged insect bursting from its cell, 
Some delicate bud, disclosing to the view 

Its glowing bosom, and in many a dell 
Young fledglings flutter on unpractised wing. 

While mirth and music through the woodland ring. 
Wild bees hum dreamily their pleasant song 

Among the scented clover ; field and glen 
Are full of life and music ; all day long 

The song of birds is sounding there ; and when 
The sun withdraws his light, and shadows lie 

Upon the brow of Nature, winds and streams 
Keep up a soft delicious harmony 

That soothes the spirit into blissful dreams ; 
While pour the trembling stars and glorious moon 
Their richest radiance from the sky of June. 



THE POET. 

THE poet singeth ; his songs go forth ; 
The world enraptured listens ; 
For he calleth smiles to the lip of mirth, 

Or tears in bright eyes to glisten. 
He waketh or quelleth the throb of grief; 

He wrappeth in deep devotion. 
And winneth hearts to his own belief 
In a tide of s\wet emotion. ^ 



60 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Yet siugeth he like the unknown bird 

In its forest home which hideth, 
While fain are they who its songs have heard 

To know where the minstrel bideth ; 
But few would guess that the timid thing, 

From the woodland path that springeth, 
Could fold 'neath its dusky breast and wing 

The notes which the filmed one singeth. 

And thus uncared is the poet passed 

By those who his fame are swelling ; 
And many a scornful glance is cast 

On his homely garb and dwelling. 
But he can smile, though their pride may wound 

And canker his lofty spirit ; 
For the voice of fame hath a pleasant sound, 

And the world hath owned his merit. 
No matter, then, though that world should scorn 

The being it should have cherished ; 
The glorious strains of his genius born 

Shall live when its pride has perished. 





DYING ROSES. 

THEY are dying, they are dying ! 
A thousand bright-lipped flowers 
Are flinging down their fading leaves, 

In soft and fitful showers. 
The golden sun of summer 

Hath never shone more fair, 
And the odor of the dying flowers 

Lies sweetly on the air : 
But we know that they are passing, 

And their very sweetness brings 
Kegret, that we must lose so soon 

Such fair and frao-rant thino-s ! 



They are fading, they are fading ! 

But not alone they die, 
For many a form as fair as they 

Must soon as lowly lie. 
There is many a warm cheek paling, 

And bright lip growing wan, 

G 61 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

While lies the shadow of the grave 

The warm young heart upon. 
They are passing, they are passing ! 

The golden-winged hours 
Are bearing them more swiftly hence 

Than even the dying flowers. 
There are some lingering rosebuds 

Just bursting into bloom — 
Enough to twine a parting wreath 

To lay upon the tomb. 



SOKROW UNASSUAGED. 

rpHEY tell me to cease from my sorrow, 
JL They say it is sinful and vain, 
And that I shall go to the lost one 

Who cannot come to me again. 
To many such things I have listened, 

Well knoweth my sorrowful heart 
That my darling went from me forever. 

The hour when I saw him depart, 
I know that his love and his beauty 

Shall gladden my heart no more, 
Till I shall have forded the river 

Which washes Eternity's shores ; 



SOIiGS OF EA RL Y AND . LA TER YEA RS. G 3 

And therefore my heart goeth mourning, 

Mourning and sorrowing on, 
For the flower in its summer-time blighted, 

The rainbow so suddenly gone. 



TO JENNY LIND. 

WELCOME, sweet warbler! whose wild notes 
are ringing. 

Birdlike and free, through our beautiful land ; 
Thou in whose pathway the gifted are flinging 

Tributes which genius alone can command. 
Poets have welcomed thee warmly and proudly, 

Wealth has bowed down at the nightingale's shrine, 
And while their welcomes were echoing loudly. 

Scarce hadst thou heard the low whisper of mine; 
Still in my bosom it murmured unspoken. 

What were the song of a stranger to thee ? 
But from its silence my spirit has broken : 

Listen, fair " Bird of the Nor'land," to me. 

Not for the gift that is winning thee treasure, 
Wreathing thy brow with the garland of famcj . 

Cast I this drop in the o'erflowing measure, 
Filled to the praise of thy wdde-echoed name ; 



64 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Not to thy name, Jmfc to thy heart am I singing, 
To thy sweet nature, warm, loving, and free, 

Woman's affectionate sympathy bringing. 
As a fit offering, fair stranger, to thee. 

Sweet is thy gift, but the spirit which knoweth 

Rightly to use it is lovelier far ; 
Nobler the heart whence love's radiance flow^eth, 

Pure as the light of night's earliest star. 
Such is the love of humanity swelling, 

Pure and unchecked in thy generous breast ; 
Bringing back light to the gloom-shadowed dwelling, 

Making the heart of the destitute blest. 

Sorrowful hearts, which thy kindness has gladdened, 

Thankfully mingle thy name with their prayers ; 
(Oh! may thy own spirit never be saddened, 

Never bowed down by adversity's cares.) 
Therefore, fair sister ! I welcome and bless thee. 

Though thy sweet voice is yet strange to my ear, 
Therefore my heart goeth forth to caress thee. 

Breathing that home-word so precious and dear ; 
Therefore I wish that thy heart may be ever 

Bright with love's sunshine, unsullied by tears, 
And that our voices may mingle together 

With seraphim's songs, through eternity's years. 



y;!^^^^ 




WE SAID FAKEWELL. 

WE said farewell : I kne\Y not then 
The agony that word contains, 
For then we hoped to meet again. 
We parted : and to me remains 
A blessed memory, warm and bright, 

Bathed often in a tide of tears, 
But ever radiant with a light 

Which shall outlive the flight of years ! 



We met no more : that first farewell, 

Too lightly spoken, was the last ; 
A sculptured marble briefly tells 

How love's fair sky was overcast. 
Oh ! sad and sore my heart hath been, 

And strong the conflict in my breast ; 
I knpw that thou hast entered in 

The glorious and eternal rest ; 

6 * E 65 



6Q SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And mournfully my soul hath striven, 
With calm, submissive faith, to bear, 

And bless the high behest of heaven : 
But there was strife and anguish there. 

The love that held thee in its clasp 

Was loth to say that it was well, 
And yield thee to Death's icy grasp, 

And leave thee when his shadow fell. 
It cannot be, beloved ! my heart 

Will yield to none the place of love 
It kept for thee — death could not part 

Our spirits : thou hast gone above, 
And I am lingering still below ; 

But fondly beats my heart for thee, 
And dearer than the richest flow 

Of music, is thy name to me ! 

And thou art with me still in dreams, 

Sweet angel of my sleeping hours ! 
Thy voice, the mellow gush of streams ; 

Thy step, the breeze 'mid trembling flowers; 
I feel thy warm hand clasp my own, 

Thy cheek to mine in fondness pressed — 
I wake, content to be alone. 

Since thou hast gone to " blissful rest." 




THE PET BIKD. 

rpHERE was a bird, a petted thing and cherished, 
JL A household darling tenderly caress'd. 
Whose plaintive voice, for every flower that perished, 

Sent mournful echoes through her sheltered nest ; 
And they who loved her, loved her sad-toned singing, 

And said it was the music of their life, 
And that its echoes in their hearts were ringing, 

When they went forth amid life's toil and strife. 

Sometimes a passing stranger paused to hear her. 

And sometimes murmured flattering words of 
praise ; 
But the kind words of household love were dearer. 

And these could ever win her gentlest lays. 
Thus sang she on, and years passed swiftly o'er her, 

Marked by the death of many a treasured flower ; 
Blossoms and buds which faded out before her. 

Leaving their fragrance floating 'round her bower. 

G7 



68 SONGS OF EARf.Y AND LATER YEARS. 

Thus sang she on, still earnestly and sadly, 

Till one who bent to listen, breathed a tone 
Which made her bosom's pulses flutter gladly, 

Albeit the voice was mournful as her own. 
It told her he who sang was sad and lonely. 

That in his pathway, joys but bloomed to die ; 
That her soft voice could cheer him, and hers only. 

And bring Hope's rainbow to his clouded sky. 

It told her of a home whereto her presence 

Could bring content to dwell a constant guest ; 
And thus her spirit learned the mystic lessons. 

Which- were to win her from the household nest. 
That voice grew dearer, in her spirit making 

Such music as no voice had made before, 
AVithin her bosom's'quiet depths awaking 

Emotions which might slumber never more. 

Her home was dear, but that sweet voice was dearer, 

And when it called her thence in accents low. 
Her voice was never firmer, never clearer. 

Than when it breathed the earnest " I will go." 
And to a quiet nest the loved one bore her, 

And there she folded lovingly her wings ; 
And with love's sunlight softly smiling o'er her, 

A cheerful strain the petted song-bird sings. 




THE MUSIC OF THE WATERS. 

THE rushing of the waters, 
Oh, how I love to hear 
When they burst their icy fetters 
In the spring-time of the year ! 
They seem to start so joyously 

From every mountain spring. 
With sound so like the melodies 
Which merry children sing. 

The music of the waters ! 

At evening's quiet hour, 
It steals into my listening heart, 

With gentle drfeam-like power ; 
And wakes a thousand memories 

Of days departed long. 
When first I learned to love so well 

The restless water's song. 

It minds me of a rocky steep 

Whence many streamlets gushed, 

69 



70 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Whose voices seemed to grow more deep 
And wild, as on they rushed ; 

They seemed forever singing 
Sweet anthems for the flowers, 

Which clustered on their edges. 
Through summer's sunny hours. 

The music of the waters ! 

No sweeter song is sung 
Than that they chant while wandering 

Earth's lovely scenes among ; 
I know not if in other ears 

They breathe such harmony, 
But very pleasant is the song 

The waters sing to me ! 



OLD SONGS. 

OH ! sing them not — those olden songs 
I cannot bear to hear them sung ; 
Their plaintive sweetness all belongs 

To years when life and hope were young. 
There is not one, but brings me back 

Some memory of days gone by, 
When flowers were thick along life's track, 
And stars were bright in love's fair sky. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 71 

The flowers are dead, tlie stars are dim, 

And thorns about my pathway spring ; 
And mournful as a funeral hymn 

Are those old songs I used to sing. 
Then sing them not — I still would be 

The loving child of hope and trust, 
But every note recalls to me 

Some hope that crumbled into dust. 



MARCH WINDS. 

mHE balmy scent of spring is on the breeze ; 
X 'T is not the scent of flowers, they bloom not yet ; 
'T is not the early blossoming of trees, 

Their tiny leaf-buds are not more than set ; — 
I know not whence the breathing fragrance flows, 

Which comes upon the first warm breath of spring, 
Long ere the violet or early rose 

Unfold their sweets to woo the zephyr's wing: 
Mayhap it cometh from the dark-brown earth 

Where sleeps the loveliness of summer hours, 
And the young winds have in their early mirth 

Stirred up the odors of the perished flowers. 

I know not, and it matters not to know. 

The secret of the march-wind's balmy breath — 



72 SONGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

I love it better that its murmurs low 

Are waked in scenes which wear the hue of death. 
The mourning hue which chilly autumn gave — 

It sounds like music breathed above the tomb, 
Whose soft notes tell of hope beyond the grave, 

As march-winds herald April's coming bloom. 



LITTLE ARCHIE. 

IN the holy Sabbath dawning, 
Ere the rosy-fingered morning 
Had unbarred the gates of light, 
Little Archie's spirit breaking 
From its fragile casket, wakened 
To a Sabbath morn more bright. 

Oh, that glorious awaking ! 
Angel hands the babe uptaking, 

Up to heaven rejoicing bore ; 
And the friends who have resigned him. 
Lingering mournfully behind him. 
On some blessed morn shall find him. 

Find, and never lose him more. 




THE DEAD. 

rpHE loved of earth — how they pass away! 
X Like the sunny smiles of a summer day ; 
They pass from earth, we see them fall 
As a gem drops out from a coronal — 
As blossoms torn from a healthy stem ; 
'Tis thus that we ever think of them. 
We look with tears on a vacant place, 
And sigh for the loss of a well-known face; 
We murmur the names we loved, in vain — 
They cannot answer our call again. 

They have passed away to their quiet rest, 
Earth foldeth them in her silent breast ; 
The chill winds howl, or warm rains weep, 
Alike unheeded above their sleep ; ' 
And flowers may burst at the touch of spring. 
And green leaves rustle, and wild birds sing ; 
But it matters not to the mouldering dust, 
The green earth holdcth in faithful trust. 

7 73 



74 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

They pass,.and their place must henceforth be 
Vacant, save in the memory 
Of those who loved them, — the faithful few, — 
Whose hearts, to the dead, are fond and true ; 
Whose love wanes not with the burdened breath, 
And sinking pulse that tells of death ; 
That goes not out when the death-sealed eye 
Is shut from the light of the glorious sky ; 
And the pleasant sounds they had loved to hear, 
Touch not the nerves of the senseless ear. 

The love of such hearts cannot grow cold, 

Their memories never wax dim or old ; 

They shrine the dead in a sacred urn, 

They know they can never to them return ; 

But a holy trust to their love is given. 

Gems snatched from earth are re-set in heaven ; 

Flowers which died here in their beauty's prime. 

Live there in endless summer-time ; 

And the dear ones, shrined in the trustful heart. 

They shall meet again, and no more shall part. 





A BRIDAL SONG. 

A SONG and a blessing for thee, young bride ! 
As thou goest forth by thy loved one's side, 
Passing from under the old roof-tree. 
Which long and kindly has sheltered thee — ■ 
Leaving the home of thy childhood's hours. 
Bidding farewell to its birds and flowers. 
And the quiet spot where thy dear ones rest. 
With the green sod hiding each peaceful breast. 



Thou art going forth, and there resteth now, 
A shadow of grief on thy girlish brow ; 
But it soon will pass, for thy path is bright. 
Thy future is warm with a golden light ; 
And leaning with mingled love and pride. 
On him thou hast chosen to be thy guide : 
Thou lookest forth to the coming years. 
And a rainbow gleams through thy gathering tears. 

75 



76 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Bless thee, young bride, for thy trustful love ; 
Thou art going forth like a mated dove, 
To fold thy wing in a new-found nest ; 
Oh, mayst thou ever be glad and blest ; 
May the links that bind thee be ever bright, 
And thy heart rejoice in unshadowed light ! 



I 



A TWILIGHT HOUR. 

I AM sitting in the twilight. 
The sun went down in gloom. 
And shadows of the murky clouds 

Are in my lonely room. 
The fire is burning dimly, 

I would not have it bright, 

Until the day be hushed asleep 

On the bosom of the night. 

There is silence in my chamber, 

A silence calm and deep, 
While softly round a little bed 

The dark-hued shadows creep ; 
They hide the winsome features 

Of her who slumbers there ; 
The dimpled chin, the rosy cheek, 

The soft and shining hair. 



SONGS OF FA ELY AND LATER YEARS. 77 

But from beneath the covering 

One little hand has strayed, 
Which, like a snowy lily, gleams 

Amid the deepening shade. 

My spirit bows to whisper 

A blessing and a prayer 
Above the lovely helpless thing, 

Which claims my tenderest care. 
I clasp the tiny fingers, 

I kiss the stainless brow — 
A bird-like voice the silence breaks, 

I am not lonely now. 
Soft arms my neck are clasping. 

Warm lips to mine are pressed ; 
And the smile of that sweet bal)y-face 

Makes sunshine in mv breast. 



WHY DO AVE LOVE? 

WHY do we love the beautiful things 
To which the heart in its fondness clings ? 
The golden light of the summer hours, 
With their blushing glory of buds and flowers ; 
The song of birds, and the voice of streams, 
Which mingle themselves with our very dreams? 



78 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Why do we love them ? The summer has flown ; 
Winter has changed the streamlet's tone ; 
The flowers we cherished have long been dead, 
The last pale leaves from the boughs are shed ; 
The birds have passed to a fairer clime, 
And cold and drear is the winter time. 



AVhy do we love them ? Why do we twine 

Our hopes with things we must soon resign ? 

Why are we charmed with the tone or grace 

Of a gentle voice, or a lovely face ? 

Why do we gaze into loving eyes. 

Till we fancy them brighter than sunlit skies? 

Why does a gentle, fond caress 

Yield such a heart- wealth of happiness? 

Why, with such loving and earnest trust, 

Do we lean on aught that is linked with dust? 

Why, when we know that the shadowy pall 

Of change and death lies over all, 

And years pass on with silent tread 

Over the graves of our loved and dead ? 

Why? Oh! the summer will come again. 
With flowers for forest and field and glen : 
The birds will sing, and the streams will flow, 
With the gladsome voices of "Ions: aso." 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 79 

And the lost, the loved for whom we weep, 
They too shall wake from their long cold sleep, — ■ 
Shall wake to a summer of love and light, 
A summer that knoweth no change or blight. 
Thus shall the lost be restored again : 
Therefore our love is not wrong or vain. 



THE YOUNGEST BROTHER. 

I HAD rocked him in his ci^adle, 
I had borne him in my arms ; 
AVith all a sister's love and pride, 

Had marked his budding charms ; 
His infant steps had guided, 

And taught him all the plays. 
And sang him all the simple songs 

Which charmed my infant days. 
I saw him pass from childhood 

Along youth's sunny ways ; 
And life was like a pleasant field 

Spread out before his gaze ; 
The light of early manhood 

Had touched his fair young face, 
And lent to lip and cheek and brow 

A new and noble grace. 



80 SO^-GS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Perhaps I gazed too proudly, 

Perhaps I loved too well, 
For suddenly on love and hope 

A fearful blighting fell. 
I saw that dear one smitten, 

His life in one brief hour 
Crushed out, as when a careless step 

Treads down a cherished flower. 
No blight was on his beauty. 

No mildew of decay ; 
The flower was crushed, but beauty still 

Upon the young leaves lay. 
I bent above his pillow 

When morning's golden light 
Fell o'er him like an angel's smile, 

So warm, and soft, and bright. 
I kissed the icy forehead 

Where death had left his chill. 
And those pale lips, whereon a smile 

Was sweetly lingering still. • 
I knew his heart was pulseless, 

I knew his eyes no more 
Would lift their loving gaze to mine, — 

That life and hope were o^er. 
But even when they bore him 

To that last place of rest. 
And I had seen the chilly earth 

Heaped o'er his silent breast, 



SONGS OF EARLY AX D LATER YEARS. 81 

It seemed a fearful vision : 

I could not make it true, 
That they had hid that noble form 

Forever from my view. 
And since, alike in daytijne, 

And in the quiet night, 
It seems as if that bright young face 

Were present to my sights 
I seem to hear him murmur 

The pleasant words of yore, 
And start, and weep, because that voice 

May gladden me no more. 
My heart is wrapped in mourning, 

My eyes with tears are dim, 
And every joyous face I see 

Awakes some thought of him. 
And when the winds are moaning 

His lowly bed above, 
It seems so hard that he must lie 

Shut out from life and love ! 

They strive to soothe my anguish 
With words of hope and cheer ; 

They tell me of the better land, 
Where I his voice shall hear. 

They tell me to look upward, 
And so I strive to do ; 
F 



82 SOXGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

But there 's a mist before my eyes 

I cannot yet see through. 
I know the sun is shining 

Behind the misty cloud ; 
I know it was not all of him 

We folded in the shroud ; 
But the shadow on my spirit 

Is one no hand may lift, 
Save His who gives, and as He will, 

Reclaims the precious gift. 



I HAVE FOUND FLOWERS. 

I HAVE found flowers, wild flowers. 
Fair azure things, with golden hearts, are they ; 
Such as I gathered in life's morning liours, 
Upon the woody hill-sides far away. 

I do remember well 

The first I ever found, — a tiny thing 
That bloomed alone, where the warm sunshine fell 

Upon it in the first bright days of spring. 

Charmed with its beauty then, 

My heart has never learned to love it less. 
Though dwelling where the close-built homes of men 

Left not one sweet wdld-flower the sight to bless. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 83 

A woodland home once more 

Is mine, and, yesterday, the southern breeze 
To me the scent of April's treasures bore : 

I went to search, and found unfolded these. 



BRIGHT WINTER DAYS. 

f^nHE beautiful days of winter ! 
X Like golden links are they, 
Binding the days which are coming 

With those which have passed away. 
Bright links, which clasp together 

Memories fair and bright, 
And beautiful hopes, which nestle 

In the future's golden light. 

Sunshiny days of winter! 

Ye are beautiful as few, — 
The spring winds are more balmy, 

And the summer skies more blue ; 
But a sunny day in winter 

Is a bright and precious thing ; 
Its light steals into one's being, 

And makes the sad heart sin.sr. 




JOY IN HEAVEN. 

rpHERE 'S joy in heaven, among the holy throng, 
JL Who stand forever near the Saviour's throne ; 
A strain of deeper gladness swells the song 

The seraphs utter ; a more rapturous tone 
Of love and praise from golden harps resounds ; 

Bright cherubs wave for joy their glittering wings, 
When Mercy bends above a lost one found, 

A sinner bowed before the King of kings. 
Mourning the sins which slew the Son of God, 
And seeking pardon through his precious blood. 

Oh, what a precious thing the soul must be, 

When angels, seraphs, saints in triumph sing. 
When one from Satan's bondage is set free, — 

When God esteemed it such a priceless thing. 
That but the sufferings of his only Son 

Could save it from eternal misery, — 
When all that suffering had been borne for one. 

Had only one transgressed ! How gloriously 

84 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 85 

The plan of our redemption hatli been wrought ! 

No ransom less than that which God hath given, 
Could, for one sinful erring soul, have bought 

The boundless wealth and happiness of Heaven ; 
But praise to God ! He makes it free to all 
Who will accept the Spirit's gracious call. 



EMBALM THE DEAD. 

EMBALM the dead in tears ! 
These are more precious far than spice or oil 
Why leave for after-years 

Death's final triumph ? He will yet despoil 
All that is mortal ; darkness and decay 
Must do their work upon the breathless clay. 

Embalm the dead in love ! 

There is no need of costly spicery : 
Heap the green turf above 

The silent breast, and let remembrance be 
The sole embalmer, and the heart an urn, 
Where gentle thoughts of them shall ever burn. 

The faithful heart retains 

More than Egyptian art hath power to hold ; 



86 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

That keeps the poor remains 

Of what we loved, pale, motionless, and cold ; 
But memory keepeth warm the blessed light 
Of love, and smiles and beauty pure and bright. 



JESUS. 



IN the thorny desert straying, 
On the lonely mountain praying ; 
In the streets and highways preaching, 
Oh, how gracious was his teaching ! 
Mysteries of grace revealing, 
Healing all who came for healing ; 
Toiling, sorrowing, day by day, 
Passed his mortal years away. 

Oft, when evening's quiet close 
Brought the season of repose, 
And the poorest toiling peasant 
Sought his home, by love made pleasant, 
Jesus trod no homeward way. 
Tarrying where they bade him stay ; 
Or, for want of welcome, said, 
Lacking " where to lay his head," 
On the damp and chilly sod 
Spent the hours in prayer to God. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 87 

Son of God ! what wondrous love 
Brought Thee from thy throne above ; 
Made thee choose an humble birth, 
Choose to tread the ways of earth ? 
Human nature meekly wearing, 
Every human sorrow sharing; 
Bearing pride and scorn with meekness, 
Kindly pitying human weakness ; 
Patient gentleness displaying, 
Seeking out the lost and straying ; 
Giving even thy life, to buy 
Life for sinners doomed to die : 
That Kedemption might be free 
Unto all who come to Thee ! 



GONE. 



GONE, to return no more ! 
Gone from our midst, so joyous and so young, 
His heart with youth's fresh gladness running o'er, 

And on his lips life's pleasant songs half sung ; 
Gone from our midst ! Our hearts Avill wait in vain 
To hear his dear returning step again. 

He went from us so strong, 

At early morn, with step so iirm and light ; 



88 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

The noontide saw him sadly borne along, 

O'er the same paths, and in the still calm night, 
Unconscious of the loved ones round his bed. 
The low faint breathing ceased — and he was dead ! 

When morning came, the warm 

Glad sunshine through the shaded casement 
gleamed. 
And rested softly on the shrouded form. 

And the pale face, which looked as if he dreamed 
Some pleasant dream, so calm, and pure, and fair, 
Lay the young brow beneath the clustering hair. 

AVe laid him in the earth ! 

Ah me, how hard it was to lay him there ! 
How sad to gather round the household hearth, 

Where he was not! Oh, brother, young and fair, 
Our hearts are sadly drooping o'er the grave. 
From which our love was all too weak to save. 

He will return no more ; 

But we have laid him there in hopeful trust, 
That when a few more years are counted o'er, 

And we, like him, have slumbered in the dust, 
We all shall meet upon that hapi)ier shore, 
Whence none departeth, to return no more. 




THY BROTHER SHALL ARISE AGAIN. 

[John xi. 23.] 

rnHY brother shall arise again ! " 
X In those sweet words what comfort lies ! 
Poor trembling mourner, cease thy strain 
Of anguish, dry thy tear-dimmed eyes ; 
And let thy heart's repinings cease : 
For, lo ! the Saviour whispers, " Peace." 

A mourner bent beside a tomb, 

And wet with tears the hallowed dust, 

While in her bosom thoughts found room, 

Which marred her heavenward hope and trust ; 

She mourned that one so young and brave 

Should slumber in the chilly grave. 

" Why must that manly form no more 

Be found in its accustomed place ? 
Why is death's curtain folded o'er 

That generous heart — that joyouc face? 

8- - 89 



90 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

AVhy was a parent's hope and stay, 

So loved and leaned on, snatched away ? " 

She wept such tears as only flow 

From hearts by bitter anguish torn ; 

Beneath affliction's sudden blow 

Her very soul seemed downward borne, 

Till, faint and weary with her grief. 

She looked to Heaven for relief. 

It came : A whisper low and calm 
Breathed in her spirit's listening ear, 

O'er her bruised heart like precious balm 
Distilled, she felt that God was near ; 

And that sweet promise soothed her pain, — 

" Thy brother shall arise again ! " 



I 



GEORGE'S GRAVE. 

COLD is the bed where our darling is lying ; 
Coldly the winter-wind sweeps o'er his tomb, 
Wildly and sadly a requiem sighing, 

O'er him who died in his summer's young bloom. 
Cold is the bed where we laid him to slumber. 

Though the warm sunshine fell lovingly there, 
On that sad day we will ever remember — 
Day when we buried the youthful and fair. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 91 

Earth with the glory of autumn was glowing, 

Flowers on the upland were lingering still ; 
Soft, as in spring-time, the west-wind was blowing, 

But on our hearts lay a winter-like chill. 
Winter has since spread a covering o'er him. 

Pure as befitteth an innocent breast ; 
Spring, and the fond ones who live to deplore him, 

Will cover with blossoms the place of his rest. 
Spring ! Ah ! the spring-time itself will be dreary, 

Dreary, though laden with freshness and bloom ; 
Dreary to us, who, sad-hearted and weary. 

Gather her treasures to garland the tomb ! 



OUR VALLEY. 

BEAUTIFUL! O beautiful is this valley home 
of mine ! — 
The green fields circled in by hills o'erhung with 

fragrant pine. 
A thousand glancing streamlets amid our meadows 

flow. 
On whose green banks bright cowslips and water- 
lilies grow ; 
The darkest purple violets are found among our dells. 
And laurels on the hill-side spread their tufts of 
, scented bells;- 



92 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

The mourning dove sings softly our shady woods 

among, 
Where songs of lighter cadence by gayer birds are 

sung. 

It is lovely, very lovely, the valley where we dwell, 
Though round a stranger's heart it might not weave 

a binding spell : 
We think it very beautiful, this valley home of ours. 
With wild-bird music, waving woods, and wealth of 

summer flowers : 
The village down beside the hill, the church and 

churchyard green, 
With white catalpas bending, the precious dust to 

screen. 
'Tis lovelier than at other times, upon a Sabbath 

morn. 
When summer-winds are singing through fields of 

rustling corn ; 
And scent of blossoms gathered, and wafted by the 

air, 
Like unseen incense stealeth through the sacred 

place of prayer. 

A little band of worshippers then bring together, 

there 
The joy and sadness of the heart, its blessedness and 

care : 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 93 

Some hearts are faint and weary, and some with 

gUidness beat, 
But the same dear Hand divides to all the portion 

that is meet. 
All hearts His words are waiting, whose heart is with 

us all. 
And gently to the di-ooping. His words like balm- 

droi)S fall : 
He bringeth to the thoughtless a warning from the 

tomb ; 
He bids them look on youth decayed in beauty's 

early bloom ; — 
A warning or a blessing for every soul He hath. 
And kindly pointeth out to all the safe and narrow 

path. 
It is lovely, very lovely, this valley home of ours, 
But it ever wears its sweetest look in the holy kSab- 
' bath hours. 



A THOUGHT OF DEATH. 

OH ! what a glorious thing it must be 
For the soul to burst from its bonds of clay, 
Spreading its pinions strong and free. 

To speed its flight from this world away, 
Onward and up, and never stay, 



94 SOiVGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

Till it enters the beautiful land 
Where never dieth the light of day ; 
Where they never grow weary, or sadly say, 
" I am sick," and all tears are wiped away 

By our heavenly Father's hand. 
Oh ! happy the soul that enters there, 
Shut in forever from pain and care ; 
With a life before it of love and praise, 
As long as eternity's endless days. 

Oh ! when I think of that glorious place. 

And of those who have entered its gates of rest. 

The shadows of sorrow forsake my face, 
My heart throbs gladly within my breast. 
And fondly I call my lost ones blest. 

For I know that they are there, 

By the priceless pearl their souls possessed, 
While gently their feet life's pathway pressed, 

And the sky of youth was fair. 

I am glad to think they are gathered in, 

Safe from sorrow and pain and sin ; 

And the heart that is lonely since they are gone, 

Is hopefully striving and struggling on ; 

If still it sheddeth its human tears, 

For the sorrow that fell on its early years ; 

Softly they fall as the dew of night. 

To be inhaled by the morning light — 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 95 

The light which gleams from those portals bright 
Which never unfold to mortal sight, 
But over the soul their radiance shed, 
Whenever we think of the blessed dead. 



ADVICE TO A POET. , 

POET ! if thy thoughts be bright, 
Full of gladness and of light, 
Full of beauty and of trust, 
Free from care's corroding rust, — 
Sing. Thy pleasant thoughts shall be 
Bright to others as to thee. 

If thy spirit hath been tried. 
If thy brightest hopes have died, 
If thy memory fondly clings 
Unto lovely perished things, 
While thy warmest tears are sh^d 
For the faithless, or the dead ; — 
If thy body, worn with pain. 
Seeks the gift of health in vain, 
While thy heart with humble faith, 
Looking upward, meekly saith, 
" 'Tis my Father holds the rod, 
Blessed be the will of God ; " ~= 



96 SOKGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Poet ! sing. Thy songs shall be 
Blest to others as to thee. 



But if bitter thoughts are thine, 

If around thy heart entwine 

Restless pride, whose haughty aim 

Is at worldly wealth and fame ; 

Care, that gnawing at thy breast, 

Can"ker-like destroys thy rest, — 

Burning envy, hate, and scorn, 

Of the heart's corruption born, — 

Breathe them not, such thoughts would be 

Dark to others as to thee ; 

Breathe not words to sear and blight, 

If thou suffer wrong and slight : 

Let it not be breathed in songs. 

Which may long outlive thy wrongs ; 

Better silently to bear 

Than to burden with thy care 

Hearts whose painful sympathy 

Is of no avail to thee. 

Sing of all things pure and bright. 
Things which gladden and delight : 
Sing of trials, pain, and care, 
Sanctified by faith and prayer. 
Songs like these will blessings bring 
Unto those who hear thee sin 2^. 



SONGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 97 

Hearts witli gladness running o'er, 
Gladness unexpressed before, 
Find their inward bliss, by thee 
Shadowed forth so truthfully, 
That thy spirit's joyous tone 
Seemeth more than half their own ; 
And some spirit, bowed in dust, 
May grow stronger through thy trust. 
Thus, the gift God gave to thee 
Blest to other hearts may be. 



LAY NOT THY HARP ASIDE. 

LAY not thy harp aside ; 
There falls sweet music from its trembling 
strings, — 
Not the high strains of pride. 

Not the gay notes the heart-glad minstrel sings. 
Thy spirit hath been tried. 

And grief and care droop round thy heart their 
wings, 
And fling a shadow o'er the source of song, 
Which dims, but darkens not, and it were wrong. 

To cease from those sweet lays, 

To hush thy melodies within thy soul, 
9 G 



98 soxas OF i:arly and later years. 

And in life's toilsome ways, 

Pass on, a victim to thy self-control ; 

There are a few would praise, 

To whose dull hearts such music never stole ; 

But thy heart would be sadder, didst thou crush 

The thoughts which from its depths so freely gush. 

Cast not thy harp away. 

The mildew of neglect will rust and blight ; 
Leave not to dim decay 

The jewel which may shine with purer light, 
And sparkle on thy way, 

And throw around thy name a halo bright. 
Sing on ! Thy talent was not given to rest 
Unused, unpolished, hid within thy breast. 



TO THE MOURNING DOVE. 

SWEET mourning dove, thy voice to me 
Is sweeter than the gayest notes 
Which warble through the greenwood tree, 

From merry songsters' tuneful throats, 
When April flowers adorn the earth, 

And joyous birds begin to sing, 
Above the early blossom's birth, 
Kejoicing in the breath of spring. 



SOA-GS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Thy plaintive voice swells sadly out 

From some sequestered lonely dell, 
Where green leaves cluster all about, 

And violet-buds ungathered swell ; 
And through the long warm summer days 

Thy sad unchanging song is heard — 
Oh ! can it be that sorrow stays, 

An inmate of thy breast, sweet bird ! 

Or, hast thou in thy seeming woe 

A heart as light as if thy strain 
Were gayer — is its plaintive flow 

A sound of bliss instead of pain ? 
It must be so, for thou art not 

A mateless, melancholy thing, 
Forever pining o'er thy lot 

With drooping head and folded wing. 
Thine is no weary song of grief, 

Though mildly pensive is thy lay, 
'Midst springing flowers, o'er falling leaf. 

In spring-tide or autumnal day. 
There is, methinks, a gentle tone 

Of sweet contentment in thy voice, 
Unlike the mourner's funeral moan. 

Which lets no listening heart rejoice. 




DREAMS OF THE DEAD. 

DREAMS of the blessed dead, 
How sweetly do ye come 
Around our dreaming hearts, to shed 

Thoughts of their spirit home ; 
Ye fling a holy light 

Upon our sleeping hours, 
As soft, and beautiful, and bright. 
As hues of summer flowers. 

Ye wake sad thoughts, but sweet. 

Of dear ones passed from earth — 
Of forms we never more may meet 

By social board or hearth. 
Ye bring the clasping hand, 

The smile we loved so well. 
The winning accents soft and bland 

From smiling lips that fell. 

That smile has passed away 

With the light of earthly love ; 

100 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 101 

Those lips now breathe a holy lay, 

With angel tongues above ; 
But oft they live with us again, 

And their memories round us creep. 
Like the winding links of a love- wrought chain, 

In the visions of our sleep. 

Dreams of the blessed dead. 

There are dreams more bright by far, 

But none o'er the soul so sweetly shed. 
The light of love's fair star. 



THE AUTUMN-TIME. 

THE autumn-time is coming ! 
A glorious time to me, 
AVhen a mantle of goro-eous colors 

Wrappeth each forest-tree ; 
When orchard boughs are bending, 

And the golden sunshine plays 
With leaves and friut as glowing 

As are its own bright rays ; 
When the vines upon the uplands 

Are crushed and laden down 
With purple clusters, decking 
The season like a crown ; 
9* 



102 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

When free, wild winds come singing, 

Forest and valley through. 
With a song so glad and careless, 

I long to sing it too ; 
And my heart springs upward, flinging 

Aside all thought of care, 
And my thoughts like birds are winging 

Away through the soft blue air. 

Oh ! from my earliest childhood 

Hath autumn been to me 
A time wdien my heart grew lighter, 

My voice and step more free ; 
Away through shadowy woodlands. 

Where chestnut-trees flung down 
A shower of shining treasures. 

Of ripe nuts bright and brown ; 
Up o'er the rugged hill-side, 

Down through the tangled dell, 
Over the sun-crisp'd meadows. 

My footsteps lightly fell. 
And my voice rang out to echo 

My brother's noisy glee — 
The young glad-hearted brothers. 

Who trod those paths with me. 

Many a summer and autumn 
Have passed since that gay time, 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 103 

When there was no path too tiresome 

For my young feet to climb. 
My steps since then have wearied, 

And faltered along the way, 
Afar from the pleasant woodland 

Where we were wont to stray. 
Through more than one bright summer 

I 've languished day by day. 
While the thought of death upon me 

Like a misty shadow lay ; 
But when the blessed autumn 

Came singing o'er the earth, 
My heart sprang up to answer, 

With some of its old-time mirth : 
My spirit then grew stronger. 

My step grew firm and light, 
And the beauty of all things round me 

Made even my thoughts more bi'ight. 

Oh ! that my lips could utter 

The thoughts which thrill my breast, 
When the glorious autumn sunset 

Is smiling vialong the West; 
It seems a.s a curtain only 

Shuts out from mortal view, 
The land of immortal beauty, 

And its glory is shining through. 



104 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER FEARS. 

Oh ! that a voice were given 

To the thoughts which wake and die, 
Shut up in a gateless prison, 

As these glorious days go by. 
It may be I love them better. 

Because my infant eyes 
First looked on this world of beauty 

By the light of autumnal skies ; 
The same rich light fell softly. 

Like a blessing on my brow, 
When my heart in its gladness uttered 

The beautiful marriage-vow. 
And the autumn-time must ever 

Sweet thoughts and memories bring 
To the heart which gladly nestles 

Beneath Love's sheltering wing. 



ARE YOU YET IN THE LAND OF THE 
LIVING? 

IVTOT yet ! but I am going thither. 

Jl-1 a little while my weary feet must tread 

The paths of earth, where mists and shadows gather. 

This valley of the dying and the dead ; 
A little while, and this rough journey o'er, 

Land of the Living ! I shall reach thy shore. 



SONGS OF FARLY AND LATER YEARS. 105 

Not yet ! the gloomy waves of Death's dark river 
Are yet to struggle with ; beyond it lies 

The land of Life; some golden sunbeams quiver 
Athwart the tide, from those unshadowed skies. 

Land of the Living, where is no more night, 
I soon shall hail thy glorious morning-light ! 

The foregoing lines were suggested by the reply of an aged 
Christian, to one who told him that a friend who resided at a 
distance, had asked if he were yet in the land of the living. 
" Tell him," said the good old man, " that I am not there yet, 
but I am going thither." 



MARTHA. 



SHE moved with busy dignity ; a look 
Of constant care upon her thoughtful face : 
Nor for a moment carelessly forsook 

Her household duties ; promptly did she place 
The dainty viands on her crowded board ; 

Neglecting nothing; — but her careful heart 
Was vexed, that in preparing for their Lord 

The needful meal, her sister took no part. 
" Master," she said, " dost thou not care to see, 

My sister leaveth me to serve alone ? " 
There was a mild rebuke, given solemnly. 

Yet full of kindness, in the earnest tone 



106 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Of his reply. " Thou, Martha ! careful art 

For many things, whose care doth trouble thee ; 

But Mary hath preferr'd the better part, 

Which taken from her never more shall be ! " 



LITTLE JANE. 



OEVEN times April's sun and showers 

KJ Have awaked the early flowers ; 

Seven times waked the grass to wave 

Over little Janie's grave ; 

Seven times, summer, blossom-crowned. 

Scattered roses o'er the mound ; 

Seven times autumn breathed his sighs, 

AVhere our darling buried lies ; 

Seven times winter's shroud been spread 

Over her little lowly bed. 

But what times, and times untold. 
We have missed her from the fold ! 
Feeble lamb, whom God in love 
Gathered to the fold above. 
We have tried our grief to quell, 
Softly murmuring, " It is well ; " 
Yet, for her our hearts wdll yearn, 
And our thoughts will often turn 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 107 

From the little ones at play, 
To the one that is away ; 
Fancying how she would have grown, 
Had she been with us till now ; 
Thinking she is still our own. 
Though upon her baby brow 
Heaven's eternal glory lies ; 
Thinking of her violet eyes — 
Eyes whose light we loved so dearly, 
Eyes which closed on earth so early. 
Eyes whose tears are wiped away ; — 
With this thought our hearts can say : 
" It is well. Beloved and blessed ! 
God hath given our darling rest." 



THE RESURKECTION OF CHRIST. 

THE blessed sunshine of the Sabbath morn 
Had not yet risen upon Judea's land. 
When rose to pray, with hearts oppressed and worn, 

Yet full of humble f\iith, a little band 
Of holy men. There was one lacking there ; 

He who had knelt with them from day to day. 
Who taught their lips to breathe the hallowed prayer, 
AVhich now with sorrowing hearts they bent to say. 



108 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And where was He — their Master ? He had gone 

Down to the quiet chambers of the dead, 
And gloom and silence wrapped, aad rested on 

His form majestic, and his princely head. 
Now the third day was dawning: knew they not 

That on that day their prophet should arise, 
Had they so soon his promises forgot? 

Alas ! the veil was yet upon their eyes. 

A step was on the threshold, and a cry 

Of sudden gladness on their senses burst ; 
And Mary, flushed and faint with haste and joy, 

Stood in their midst. Her feet had been the first 
To seek the tomb wherein her Saviour lay. 

She told, and they who heard were mute with awe, 
How she had found the " great stone rolled away," 

And angels watching there ; and how she saw. 
And spoke with him she sought, and mourned as dead, 

When she turned sorrowing from the empty tomb. 
Yet doubted they, till Jesus came and said : 

" My peace be with you," and dispelled the gloom 
Which grief had gathered round them ; then they gave 

Praise to his name who won the victory 
O'er death and hell, and triumphed o'er the grave, 

Whose praise shall sound throughout Eternity. 




COMFORT IN SORROW. 

rpHERE comes to me at times a thought of heaven, 
JL A thought too glorious to be expressed ; 
And I have thought that it was kindly given, 

To soothe the grief and anguish of my breast, 
When I have thought too mournfully of some, 

Who have gone up to their eternal rest, 
And reason was too weak alone to stem 

The tide of natural sorrow which oppressed 
My drooping spirit. Oh ! it is a thought 

Which overflows with comfort and delight 
My heart and mind : it is a vision fraught 

With loveliness celestial, glory bright. 
And bliss immortal ; there are harps of gold, 

And palms of victory, and robes of white. 
And seraph forms more radiant to behold 

Than are the planets which illume our night. 



And they are there, amid that saintly band ! 

That thought has dried the tears which sorrow shed, 

10 lOU 



110 SOXGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

And left a yearning for that blessed land, 
To which my cherished ones so early fled, — 

Afid Faith and Hope seem reaching out their hands, 
To lead me thither, and my heart hath grown 

Calm in its sadness ; while life's wasting sands 
Do promise rest ere many years be flown. 



TO MY SISTER. 

THE summer-time is coming 
With blossoms fresh and fair ; 
The music of the happy birds 

Rings sweetly on the air ; 
The earth is very beautiful, 

The winds are soft and free : 
But my heart can have no summer-time, 
Away from home and thee. 

My steps have been upon the hills, 

And down beside the brook, 
Where violets are clustering 

In many a grassy nook ; 
I 've rambled at the evening hour 

Beneath the cloudless skies. 
When silvery stars look down on earth 

Like angels' holy eyes. 



so.yas OF early and later years. Ill 

The thoughts which came upon me then 

I did not dare to speak, 
For there was sadness at my heart, 

Though smiles were on my cheek. 

Oh ! sweetly dawns the summer-time. 

And beautiful is- earth, 
For nature holds a festival 

With music and with mirth ; 
The birds have built their leafy nests, . 

And gladly hums the bee ; 
But a weary heart is in my breast, 

It pines for home and thee. 



A SPRING MELODY. 

I HAVE heard the gentle voice of Spring — 
She hath come to her old-time haunts. 
And hillsides echo, and valleys ring 
With the happy notes which she loves to sing, 
O'er the birth of the first young plants. 

The bare trees rustle their branches gay, 

As they hear her pass along ; 
The blackbird tuneth his joyous lay, 
And streamlets leap on their seaward way. 

With a burst of merry song. 



112 SONGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

Spring hath come to our land again, 

And she roameth wild and free ; 
She stealeth away through the shadowy glen, 
Or visiteth kindly the homes of men, 
With her smiles and minstrelsy. 

Spring hath come ; but she sheddeth tears 

O'er many a new-made grave : 
Of those she smiled on in other years — 
Over their bosoms the young grass peers, 

And the earliest flowers shall wave. 

Spring hath come, and her smile is ours, 
And her promise of lovely things ; 

The soft sunshine, and the fragrant showers ; 

But who shall gather the latest flowers 
Which the beautiful Sibyl brings ? 

We know that her smile is upon us now ; 

But what of her parting lay ? 
Ah ! that may be of the smiling brow, 
And the blooming cheek in dust laid low 

By the touch of swift decay. 



-O, 





TO ANNIE. 

WHEN the light of the long bright summer day 
In crimson blushes melts away ; 
When stars gleam out with their eyes of love. 
From the distant blue of the world above ; 
When the birds have folded their pinions up, 
And the wild-bee sleeps in the lily's cup ; 
When your heart is thinking of oth^r times, 
And the voice of friends like the gentle chimes 
Of distant bells o'er your memory steals, 
And the yearning love of your heart reveals, — 
Will you think of me? 

I ask it not ; there are friends more near, 
Whom tenderest ties have made more dear; — 
I ask it not ; my path may lie 
Far from the light of your smiling eye, 
Or I may rest where, it matters not, 
If I am remembered, or quite forgot ; 
But I know, when your eye on the page shall rest. 
Where linger the thoughts of a faithful breast, 
]0* H 113 



114 SOXGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Whatever my fate may be, or where 
I dwell, the name that is written there 
You will breathe, it may be tenderly, 
And wake from the urn of memory 
Some thought of me ! 



THE PATCHWORK QUILT. 

I WAS sitting in my chamber 
With my baby on my knee, 
And the music of an olden tune 

Was humming dreamily. 
I idly glanced toward my bed, 

A patchwork quilt was there. 
The work of girlhood's early days, 

Arranged with skilful care ; 
The tears came gushing to my eyes. 

Their course I could not stay, 
While many a mile my heart went back 

Along life's devious Viray. 

That quilt is made of memories 

Which with my growth have grown. 

Each piece is part of garment worn 
By some one I have known : 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 115 

What tales of love and joy and grief 
Are with the whole inwrought ! 

What portraits, and what histories, 
Come crowding to my thought ! 

That azure robed my mother's form, 

When I was but a child ; 
Oh, how it brings my mother's face 

Before me, calm and mild ! 
Her soft dark eyes, her raven hair, 

Her forehead meek and fair. 
Where even in her brightest hours 

There lay a shade of care. 
Years changed the raven locks to gray, 

Her fair brow grew more pale, 
And so she faded from our sight, 

And went " within the veil." 

And here are scraps of infant robes 

A darling brother wore, — 
The brave bright boy, who died so young ; 

But I can sing no more; — 
All brighter memories are dimmed 

With tears my eyes must shed. 
And that old quilt has filled my heart 

With yearnings for the dead. 




NEVA. 

WE met as strangers — little more 
Thau strangers are we yet ; 
But still it is a joy to me 

That even thus we met. 
I looked upon her as I would 

Have looked on bird or flower, 
Whose beauty charmed my mournful mood 

With sweet resistless power. 
Her motions were so full of grace, 

So charming all her ways, 
The modest beauty of her face 

One half forgot to praise. 
A few brief days she charmed my sight, 

And o'er my spirit shed 
A ray of calm delicious light. 

Which with her presence fled. 

We meet no more, but even yet 

My heart is glad we ever met. 

IIG 




MARY LEA. 

I MET in girlhood's early hours 
A being young and bright ; 
Her eyes were like pale azure flowers, 
Just waked by heaven's warm light ; 
And o'er her forehead meek and fair 
Like sunshine lay her golden hair. 

Her step was free, her heart was light, 

As youthful hearts should be ; 
There never was a day or night 

Wherein she could not see 
Some glimmering star, some rainbow warm, 
To gild the darkness or the storm. 

I 've never seen another face 

Which seemed so fair to me, 
So full of girlish loveliness 

And stainless purity ; 
And later years have lent but few, 
To call me friend, with heart so true. 

117 



118 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Since last I saw her, years have flowD, 

And then she was a bride, 
And he who claimed her for his own 

Walked i^roudly by her side ; 
I wondered not that he should Avear 
With pride, a gem so pure and fair. 

They tell me that a change has passed, 
Her cheek has lost its bloom, 

And o'er her gladness has been cast 
A shadow from the tomb, 

Where she has laid from off her breast 

Two babes — her only ones — to rest. 

I know that she is lovely still. 
Though changed her beauty be. 

And years and grief will never chill 
Her early love for me ; 

And if her step be weak and slow, 

And if her voice be faint and low, 

Ere long the angels will unbar 
The gates of that bright land, 

AVherein her heart's sweet treasures are, 
And with the angel-band 

Around the throne, shall henceforth be 

An earth-born angel — Mary Lea ! 




ANNIE'S MINIATURE. 

I TOUCHED the spring, not guessing 
What face should greet my eyes: 
I gazed upon those features 
With sorrowful surprise ; 
And memories came thronging 

Like shadows o'er my heart, — 
The memories of pleasant scenes 
In which she bore a part. 

I thought how I had loved her, 

When life to her was new ; 
When to my heart her childish love 

Was welcome as the dew ; 
And of that cold estrangement, 

A tide we could not stay, 
Which swept, and kept, our hearts apart, 

Through many a weary day. 

119 



120 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

I thought of our last meeting, 

When first ray spirit bowed 
Beneath the heavy grief, which since 

Has wrapped it like a shroud ; 
I felt a warm hand's clasping, 

I looked through blinding tears ; 
And for a moment each forjjot 

The coldness kept for years. 

That girlish form one moment 

Was folded to my breast, 
The lips I had so often kissed 

To mine were warmly pressed ; 
And then, and there, we parted 

To meet again no more 
Till I shall fiuisli treading 

The path she hastened o'er. 



She is sleeping in the shadow 

Of the tree which shadows him ; 
For whose dear sake her eyes and mine, 

That mournful day, were dim ; 
And her memory is dearer 

For the tears I saw her shed. 
When I in bitter agony 

Was mourning for the dead. 




THE RAINBOAV AT NIGHT.* 



THP] angels built their bridge last night 
Of the pale moon's transparent beams, 
And back and forth, in mystic flight, 

Passed o'er the unseen streams. 
We could not see them as they passed, 

Their noiseless steps we could not hear. 
But while we watched the silvery arch, 
We knew that they were near. 

We knew not what their errands were, 

Knew not if life or death they brought. 
Or only bore to minds, with care 

Oppressed, release from tliought. 
Whate'er their task, 'twas quickly wrought. 

The white bridge faded from our sight, 
And looking upward, we saw nought 

But moon and stars' soft light. 

* It is an old superstition, that the rainbow is a bridge 
built by the angels, over which they pass from heaven to 

earth. 



11 



121 




LILIA8 AND I. 

LILIAS is a lady fair, 
Oh, how fair she is to me ! 
With her soft brown silky hair, 

Lips whose bloom might tempt the bee, 
And a pure, sweet face which glows 
Like a fresh but pale-hued rose. 

Her small hands are soft and white. 

Never labor-soiled or sore, 
Yet some graceful task and light 

They are daily busied o'er ; 
I am glad that hands so fair 

Need no heavier labor share. 

What if ruder tasks are mine, — 
What if none can call- me fair, — 

Shall my foolish heart repine ? 

Nay, though oft with toil and care 

Burdened, it is good to be 

Where, and as, God willeth me. 

122 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 123 

Sometimes this vain heart has thought 
Proudly what I might have been ; 

Now by wisdom better taught, 
It rejects the thought as sin ; 

For to every one his lot 

Giveth God, who erreth not. 

He hath given me a heart 

Full of warm and tender thought ; 

And I give to Lilias part — 

Give what gold could not have bought. 

To the soul whose thoughts I trace 

On that fair and gentle face. 

What if Lilias do not prize 

Such an humble offering ; 
Neither do the glowing skies, 

Flowers that bloom, and birds that sing : 
Yet I wish not to recall 
Love that 's freely poured on all. 

And if Lilias love not me, 

'T will be nothing strange or new, — 
Precious though her love would be, 

For this heart has found but few 
Where its loving thoughts might fall, 
Knowing they were treasured, all. 




TO MY BEREAVED BROTHER. 

MY heart is sad, my brother ! 
How sad I cannot tell, 
When I think of the shadow lyin^ 

Where sunshine lately fell ; 
When I think of the sweet spring music, 
Changed to the funeral knell. 

Into my soul, dear brother ! 

Thy sorrow has entered deep ; 
AVith my children playing round me, 

I cannot help but weep, — 
AVhen I think of the pale young mother, 

And her fair babes lying asleep ; 



Asleep, with the young grass springing 

Over each quiet breast ; 
I do not weep when the weary 

And care-worn are laid to rest ; 



124 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 125 

But, oh ! it is sad when the mated dove 
Is torn from a pleasant nest ! 

Sad, when the household treasures 

And hopes are snatched away. 
When, instead of joyous faces. 

We see the upturned clay, 
AVith the grass-blades struggling through it 

Up to the light of day ! 

This is a weak heart's moaning — 

Too weak to comfort thine ; 
Thy fervent faith upspringeth 

On stronger wing than mine. 
While thy lips are meekly kissing 

The hand that prunes the vine. 

For this I am glad, my brother ! 

Glad even while I mourn, 
For I know thy sweet submission 

Will meet a rich return, 
And the balm of consolation 

Will fill life's emptied urn. 

Up to that lonely chamber 

My sad thoughts follow thee ; 
I know how thy heart will miss her. 

Whose presence used to be 
Thy household light — how it will yearn 

For the face thou may'st not see. 
11^ 



126 SOXGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

I know that of all the voices 

Which daily greet thine ear, 
There is none ^Yill thrill thy bosom 

(Though friends be near and dear) 
Like hers, whose joyous carol 

Thou never on earth may'st hear. 

But a higher, holier presence 

In that quiet room will be ; 
And He who walked upon the waves 

Of stormy Galilee, 
Over the swelling waters 

Of thy grief will come to thee, 
With the sweet and faithful promise, 

" As thy day thy strength shall be." 



I 



AMONG STRANGERS. 

I BO WED within the house of prayer. 
Unknowing and unknown ; 
I think, of all who worshipped there, 

I felt the most alone ; 
No other craved so earnestly 
The boon of Christian sympathy. 

Bright eyes looked carelessly on me, 
And eyes familiar sought ; 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 127 

My heart throbbed still more painfully 

For every glance I caught ; 
A tide of sadness o'er me swept, 
And — it was weakness — but I wept. 

Not freely, as I could have wept, 
Could none have marked my grief; 

My trembling eyelids crushed the tears 
Which brought me no relief; 

And while my eyes were moist and dim. 

The choir commenced the morning-hymn : 

" My Shepherd will supply my need, 

Jehovah is his name ; " — 
How sweetly to my troubled soul 

The blest assurance came ; 
Jehovah, present everywhere. 
Beholds with pitying eye, my care. 

The thought of by-gone Sabbath hours, 

Of kindred far aw^ay, 
Became less painful, though the tears 

Still strove to force their way, 
While that sweet song of Zion stole 
Like healing balsam to my soul. 




i 



CHRISTMAS MORNING. 

THE wind is out on the prairie, 
The snow is falling fast, 
And our frail, unsheltered dwelling 

Is trembling in the blast. 
I wake in the early morning, 

Long ere the break of day, — 
Wake, to watch for the dawning, 
And think and weep and pray. 

I think of the friends who love me. 

Ah, me ! how much I miss 
My father and brother's greeting, 

My mother and sister's kiss. 
I think of the love they lavished 

On me, through many a year ; 
And I know, though we are parted, 

That their hearts are with me here. 

I weep : ah ! who can blame me 
For shedding a few warm tears ? 

While I lean my aching forehead 
On the grave of the buried years. 

128 



SOXGS OF EAh'LV AXD LATER YEA US. 129 

I kuow, ill my father's dwelling 
Some friends to-day will meet, 

But, ah ! the family circle 
Is broken and incomplete. 

I know there are voices will falter, 

I know there are eyes will weep, 
For the sake of the one that is absent, 

And one who has gone to sleep. 
But the love of the great All-Father 

Girdles us one and all. 
And our hearts are nearer together 

Than many who crowd one hall. 



THE MORKING BREEZE. 

IN from the dewy meadows. 
In from the blossoming trees, 
In from the sparkling waters, 

Cometh the morning breeze ; 
Bearing the odor of blossoms, 
The songs of bird and bee ; 
Light-winged, but heavily laden, 
Cometh the breeze to me. 

Breeze of the summer morning, 
Thou bearest my thoughts away 
I 



1 30 SONGS F EA UL Y A ND LA TER YEA RS. 

Back to life's early dawning, 
To childhood's joyous May, — 

To fields all ruddy with clover, 
To orchards heaped with bloom, 

Where the dreamy air was burdened 
With music and sweet perfume ; — 

To springs from the hi 11 -side gushing. 

To banks where the laurel grew, 
To meadows abounding in rushes 

And violets of every hue ; 
In fancy my feet are pressing 

The paths where I used to stray, 
And years with their weary lessons 

Are swept for the time away. 

Oh, breeze! it is but for a moment, 

The vision has vanished now. 
But the touch of thy dewy pinions 

Is soft to my aching brow ; 
And the odor which floats from the lilacs, 

And that by the balm-tree shed, 
Steals into my heart like a blessing 

Sent back from the years long fled. 





THE NAMELESS GRAVE. 

I LINGERED, one bright Sabbath day, 
Within a churchyard's sacred bound, 
To read on tombstones old and gray 

Their names who slept beneath the ground. 
I read of some who passed away 

In early youth's delicious bloom, 
And some who deemed it rest to lay 
Their tottering limbs within the tomb. 

But there was one, a nameless grave, 

That touched me more than all beside, — 
No lettered stone the history gave. 

Of how or when the sleeper died ; 
I knew not who was buried there. 

But felt that it was precious dust, — 
That there were some that name to wear, 

With quenchless love and patient trust, 
For o'er the spot a sweetbrier sjoread 

A shade of scented leaves and flowers. 
Whence softly on the grassy bed 

The dewdrops fell in fragrant showers. 

131 



132 SONGS OF EARLY A XI) LATER YEARS. 

It was a pleasant thought to set 

So sweet a thing to blossom there, 
Which sheddeth, w^hen its leaves are wet, 

Such balmy odors on the air ! 
The willow and the cypress-tree 

A hue of deeper sadness wear, 
But that sweet shrub appears to me 

Remembrance, linked with hopeful prayer. 



MOTHER. 



OH, mother, how we miss thee ! 
We miss thee night and day. 
We miss the loving smile that beamed 

Like sunlight on our way ; 
Thy words of kind approval, 

The tender anxious care. 
Which ever girdled us at home. 
And reached us everywhere. 

That tender care, my mother. 

How well thy daughter knew, 
Who left thee for a distant home. 

When thy sad days were few ! 
How many a loving message 

Flowed from thy heart to me. 
While in that far off stranger land 

I lino;ered wearily. 



SOMGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS 133 

And when my bright-eyed baby 

Upon my bosom smiled, 
Oh, how I wished my mother's eyes 

Could look upon my child ! 
And I prayed our heavenly Father, 

If so his will might be. 
To let me go and lay my babe 

Upon my mother's knee. 

'Twas not His will, dear mother! 

For mournfully, to-day, 
I am sitting in thy chamber, 

And thou, thou art away. 
The room is all unaltered, 

But what a change is this, — 
I came into ray mother's room, 

And met no welcome kiss. 

My heart is yearning, mother, 

Is yearning, but in vain, 
To lay my head upon thy breast. 

And hear thy voice again ; 
To meet thy dark eyes' radiant light 

Turned lovingly on me, — 
Alas! alas! my mother ! 

That this may never be ! 

They told me, gentle mother, 
Where thy pale form was laid, 
12 



134 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And thither in the morning light 
My trembling footsteps strayed ; 

Already o'er thy silent breast 
Spring's early offerings bloom : 

Alas ! alas ! my mother ! 
I came to greet — thy tomb. 



MY EARLY HOME. 

OH, the flowers, the beautiful flowers, 
Which garnished the home of my childhood's 
hours : 
Crimson roses, and lilies white, 
Four-o'clocks, with their blossoms bright ; 
Morning-glories of varied hue. 
Purple and pink, and delicate blue ; 
And violets sweet, whose dewy eyes 
Had borrowed the hue of the April skies. 

There was an orchard, with clouds of bloom, 

A clover-field breathing rich perfume ; 

And just beyond, the forest dim, 

Where the wild winds chanted their solemn hymn, 

And glad birds sang, and squirrels played, 

Fearless and free in the quiet shade. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 135 

From rugged uplands far away — 
Farther than childish feet might stray — 
A little streamlet danced along, 
Singing a wild and pleasant song ; 
Through the meadows, around the hill, 
Away to the stream that turned the mill, 
The brook kept ever upon its way, 
Joyous and bright as a child at play. 

Happy and bright were the summer hours 
Passed in the midst of those woodland bowers ; 
Pleasant and bright is their memory still, 
It sweeps through my heart with a sudden thrill. 
Like the startling rush of a wild-bird's wing, 
Like the bursting forth of a hidden spring ; 

And the present hour, with its hopes and fears — 
The lessons and trials of recent years — 
Are gone, and my childish days come back : 
I am walking again in some well-known track, 
Lingering by mossy bank or spring, 
Singing some song which I used to sing, 
Or dreaming over the early dreams, 
Which long ago yielded to graver themes. 

A little while, and my heart awakes, 
Like rested pilgrim, who, rising, takes 



136 SOXGS OF EARLY AND LATER VEARS. 

His burden up and goes his way, 
Strengthened to travel another day, 
And weaves his thoughts, as he w^alks along, 
Into a pleasant and cheerful song. 

Looking back from life's dusty ways, 

Toward the home of my early days, 

I bless His love who placed me there, 

Away from the great world's bustle and care, — 

In the " pastures green," by the waters bright, 

Till my soul was filled with the beauty and light 

Of the fair green earth and glowing skies, 

A light and a beauty which never dies. 



HALF-WAY HOME. 

MANY and many a time 
My soul has grown tired of the " battle of 
life," 
Tired of the burden, and tired of the strife, 
And I longed to lay the burden down : 
Spirit and frame cried out for rest — 
But a far-off glimpse of a golden crown 

And stainless robes, revived my breast, 
And the promise of God hath solaced me, — 
" As thy (lay is, so thy strength shall be." 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 137 

Half of the journey is past, 

Half of the "three-score years and ten ;" 
The shadows begin to lengthen fast : 

And it seeraeth long since the morning, when 
My step was lighter than it is now, 
When there was not a care-line upon my brow, 
Nor a silver thread my locks among, — 
It was long ago — I am no more young. 

I have known sorrow and care : 

Days I have seen when the light was dim : 
Nights, when my feoul, through a thicker gloom 

Than midnight darkness, cried to Him 
Who heareth always. Youth's warm bloom 

Is past, and I would not now recall 
The happiest day I ever knew, — 

Each cup of bliss had a dash of gall ; 
And for every trial 1 've struggled through 

There lies one less 'twixt me and the last : 

After a while they will all be past. 

Time kuoweth no delay : 
Morning has deepened into noon ; 
The noonday hour will have vanished soon ; 
But I am treading the homeward way, — 
The path may be rough, and dark the day, 
But, with my Father's house in sight, 
At evening time there shall be light 
12* 




TO LITTLE ETTIE'S PARENTS. 

HAS it drooped — the tender blossom 
Cherished with such loving pride ? 
Has the lamb, which in your bosoms 
You have nursed so fondly, died ? 
Kay ! the flower is but transplanted 

To a fairer bower above ; 
Nay ! the little lamb was wanted 
In the Shepherd's fold of love. 

Never say your flower has faded, — 

Never say your darling died, — 
Though your household light is shaded. 

Though your hearts are sorely tried. 
You may yet have days of mourning ; 

Never sigh shall heave her breast, 
While she waiteth for your coming, 

In a home of peace and rest. 

She was lovely, and you loved her ; 
There is One, who loved her more. 

138 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 139 

Heaven-bound pilgrims ! can you murmur 

That your child has gone before ? 
Did you not in rite ba^Dtismal 

Give the little one to God ? 
Prayed ye not that He would lead her 

In the way her Saviour trod ? 
Lo ! your prayer is more than answered, 

Rugged paths did Jesus tread ; 
But He took her to his bosom 

While you prayed she might be led. 

Ye had asked for grace to guide her, 

Now she needeth not your care. 
Dwelling in the Saviour's presence : — 

Thus our Father answers prayer. 
When we cannot read His purpose, 

As He lays our hopes in dust, 
Let us say, " It is our Father : 

Where we see not we can trud I " 

Patience, friends ! we see but dimly — 

Oh, how dimly here below ! 
What He doeth, now we know not, 

But hereafter we shall know. 
Bowing in His glorious presence. 

Knowing e'en as ye are known ; 
You with thankful hearts shall praise Him, 

Who so early claimed his own. 




WASTED HOURS. 

THE hours which we have wasted, what a throng 
Of witnesses around the Eternal Throne 
Await our coming ! Evidence so strong 
Of our delinquency, they might alone 
Write out our condemnation, did not Love 
And Mercy plead the culprit's cause above. 

The wasted hours, how noiselessly they flow ! 

Scarce do we note them, but their voice is loud 
In that far unseen land to which they go ; 

And there they wait, a stern unwavering crowd, 
To testify against us, while the stain 
Of our misdeeds doth fresh on each remain. 

The wasted hours! these are the ghosts which scare 
In night's dim season the unsettled brain 

With dreams of spectral forms, which seem to wear 
The livery of those who long have lain 

Within the mouldy chambers of the dead, 

And fill the trembling soul with awe and dread. 

140 



.^^^a 




rO ONE AVHO IS 'HALTING BETWEEN 
TWO OPINIONS.' 

OH, cast not thou thy faith away ! 
That faith which is the ' lamp of life,' 
Else lost in darkness thou shalt stray 

Through scenes with many dangers rife, 
Like one who, on a starless night, 
Gropes on his way, rejecting light. 

Oh, never cast away thy faith ! 

The soldier on the battle-field, 
Who, madly, in the face of death, 

Throws off his armor, sword, and shield. 
Is not so rash as he who flings 
Contempt and scorn on holy things. 

And what has Infidelity 

To offer for the trust it takes ? 
A hope, whereon who leans shall be 

Deceived, betrayed, — a staff which breaks 
In that dread hour, when o'er the soul 
Death's terrors like an ocean roll. 

141 



142 .^().V6'.^ OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Oh ! trust it not ; but cast away 

All hope, all trust, save that which clings 
To Christ, the 'true and living Avay;' — 

That trust which peace and comfort brings, 
And leads the wearied soul to rest 
Upon the loving Saviour's breast. 

How couldst thou scorn the holy trust 
In which thy mother lived and died ? 

Her form is sleeping in the dust, 

Her voice no more may warn or guide ; 

But, as to shield thy life from ill, 

Her memory lingers with thee still. 

The memory of her tender care, 
Her earnest love, abides with thee, 

Her voice, as in the tones of prayer. 
Breathes in the ear of memory. 

Oh ! turn not from that voice away. 

But as she taught thee, kneel and pray. 

Yes, pray ! and from thy darkened soul 
The midnight gloom shall pass away. 

The mist of doubt shall backward roll, 
And in the light of heavenly day 

Thy heart's rejoicing cry shall be: 

" I once was blind, but now I see." 



1 




' HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP.' 

[Paalm cxxvii. 2.] 

HE giveth his beloved sleep : 
Oh, wherefore put the gift away ? 
Why wake to study, toil, or weep, 

When He has closed the busy day ; 
And from our eyes shut out the light 
With the dim curtains of the night? 

He giveth sleep ! Oh, let us take 

The gift with thankful hearts, and be 

Refreshed and strengthened ; wherefore wake. 
Toil-worn and care-consumed, when He, 

Who never slumbers, wakes, to keep 

Watch over his beloved's sleep ? 

He giveth his beloved sleep. 

When .weary eyelids softly close 
O'er eyes which nevermore shall weep 

For earthly cares, or earthly woes ; 

While on the soul's enraptured sight 

Dawns the eternal morning light! 

143 












■^ 



THOUGHTS. 

OH, how little we truly know 
Of friends and neighbors ; they come and go, 
Daily and hourly we meet and part, 
But there is a veil on every heart ; 
We cannot see, and we do not know 
The joys or sorrows which lie below. 

Many a struggle these hearts have know^n — 
Struggles witnessed by God alone ; 
Many a sorrow has lived and died, 
Carefully screened from the world outside — 
Screened from even a brother's eyes, 
Lest, while he pitied, he might despise ; 
Sorrows which died in a blessed calm, 
When the Healer poured in oil and balm. 

Thus do we hide both joy and grief, 
Hiding too often the sweet belief. 
Which maketh our lot less hard to bear, 
And keepeth our souls from dark despair; 

144 



soyas OF early axd later years. 145 

Fearing to speak of our own sweet trust, 
Lest our brother's heart be dim with dust. 

There is a man with whitened hair 

Whom oft we see in the house of prayer ; 

It needeth no seer to tell that he 

Is wearing a sorrow silently, 

With one brave boy on the field of strife, 

And another wasting his bright young life. 

Turning aside from the way of truth, — 
But which of us speaks to the erring youth, 
Patiently striving day by day, 
To win back one who has gone astray ? 
Which of us breathes in the old man's ear 
A word of sympathy, hope and cheer ? 

Oh, there are souls in our midst to-day. 
For which we have failed to watch and pray : 
Souls, whom we well may dread to meet, 
When we stand before God's judgment-seat ; 
Souls, who might say, " You saw us go 
In the downward path to death and woe, — 
Saw us wasting- God's holy day 
As gravely you walked on your churchward way ; 
But none of you said, as a Christian should, 
* Come with us, brother ! we '11 do you good.' " 
Ah, 'tis a fearfully solemn thought, 
(When will we ponder it as we ought?) 
V4 K 



146 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

That not to ourselves we live or die, 
That every day, as it glideth by, 
Leaveth our impress for good or ill, 
Ou hearts which we either cheer or chill. 
Could we but know what depths are stirr'd 
By a careless look, or a thoughtless word, 
How would we watch these little things, 
Which enter the heart like venomed stings ! 
How would we pray for grace and light. 
To think, to feel, and to act aright ! 



SHE IS NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPETH.' 

I^OT dead ! oh, say not she is dead, 

XS That word hath such a mournful sound 

Her radiant soul hath only spread 

Its wings, in search of holier ground. 
And left to cold and silent sleep 
The faded shrine o'er which we weep. 

She is not dead : it is not death, 

When heaven-bound spirits leave their clay. 
As yields the rose its fragrant breath, 

When evening zephyrs round it play ; 
Or lingering starlight dies away, 
Amid the rosy flush of day. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 1^7 

She is not dead ; we have consigned 
To earth's cold breast a lovely form, 

That for a little season shrined 
A spirit joyous, frank, and warm : 

A spirit which has gone above 

To dwell with Him whose name is Love. 

We know she is not dead ; but still 

Upon our hearts a shadow lies ; 
We miss (and, oh ! we ever will) 

The sunshine of her lips and eyes. 
The loving smile which gave her face 
Its eloquent and winning grace ! 

And yet how selfish is the love 

That would have held her lingering here ! 
A stricken flower, a wearied dove. 

Too fragile for our stormy sphere, — 
When that which we call death, has brought 
The peace and rest our dear one sought ; 
To the wan flower eternal spring, 
Strength to the weak bird's drooping wing. 




* AS THY DAY, SO SHALL THY STRENGTH 
BE.' 

AS thy day, thy strength shall be ! ' 
Fearful trembler, doubt it not ; 
God, who stoops to care for thee, 

Never yet his word forgot. 
He hath promised thee and me, 

* As thy day, thy strength shall be.' 

Clouds are darkening o'er the sky. 
Angry -waters round thee foam, 

Heavenward lift thy drooping eye, 
Struggle on toward thy home ; 

Shrink not from the swelling sea, 

* As thy day, thy strength shall be.' 

Promise of a faithful God, 

Like a tower of strength art thou ; 

148 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 149 

When beneath the afflicting rod, 

Weak and worn with pain we bow, 
To this word we gladly flee, 
' As thy day, thy strength shall be/ 



MY SOLDIER LOVE.* 

I. 

OH ! where art thou, my soldier love ? 
The rain is dripping heavily, 
The evening shades are closing in, 

The children gather round my knee, 
And merrily their voices ring. 
But I am lonely, missing thee ! 

ir. 

Oh ! where art thou, my soldier love? 

The little ones are gone to rest. 
All but the youngest, darling dove, 

Who slumbers lightly on my breast. 
If thou wert here, thy good-night kiss 

Would on her cheek be softly pressed. 

* The first three stanzas were written in May, 1865 ; the 
conchiding one, in September, of the pame year. 
13* 



150 SONGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 

III. 

Oh ! where art thou, ray soldier love? 

The pale moon climbs the midnight sky, 
Upon the woody hill above 

Our lowly home, the cool winds sigh, 
They win an answering sigh from me, 
I am so lonely, missing thee ! 

IV. 

My soldier love ! my soldier love ! 

I need no longer question now, — 
I 've seen the damp earth heaped above 

Thy pulseless breast, thy faded brow, 
And henceforth my sad heart must be 
Forever lonely, missing thee ! 



THE HEART'S QUESTION. 

SHALL I know thee again in the happy land, 
Thou who hast passed to that brighter sphere ? 
Wilt thou meet me there with the clasping hand. 

And the loving smile which was thine while here; 
Or is the hope of my spirit vain, 
That, knowing and known, we shall meet again ? 



SONGS OF EARLY AXD LATER YEARS. 151 

Shall I know thee again ? or will Heaven's light 
Have rendered thy beauty too purely bright, 
For one who knew thee on earth to trace 
In the dazzling lines of thy seraph face, 
The beauty which mortals said was thine. 
When thy soul was lodged in its earthly shrine ? 

Shall I know thy voice in the solemn song, 
That floats from the lips of the seraph throng? 
Wilt thou remember the gentle name 
We called thee by : is it still the same? 
Or bearest thou one to the angels known, 
Which they can utter, and they alone ? 

Vain and light are these words of mine. 
If thou in beauty immortal shine ; 
Not through the eye of mortality, 
Dazzled and dim, shall I look on thee ; 
Not as a mortal would trembling gaze 
On a being enveloped in glory's blaze. 

The love that hath made my heart an urn. 

Filled with sweet thoughts of thee, shall know 

(Though cloudless glory around thee burn) 
A being so dear when we dwelt below. 

And thou wilt meet me with joy and love. 

And welcome me to thy home above ! 




ELEGIAC LINES. 



THEY should have laid thee in some shady dell, 
Where the green leaves might whisper overhead, 
And the blue violets thou didst love so well, 

And pale anemone, might bloom, and spread 
Their blossoms o'er thee, — where no foot might tread 

But that of the true-hearted, — where no eye 
Might gaze, which had not sorrowfully shed 

Sad tears for one so early called to die ! 
When morning sunshine gladdens earth and sky, 

It would have been so sweet to linger there, 
While every blossom breathed a fragrant sigh, 

And dreamy music filled the scented air. 
I could have fancied that thy spirit came, 

And stooped to hold communion there with mine, 
That, while I pressed the rose's lip of flame, 

Or the pale-blossomed odorous eglantine, 
Thy breath v/as on them. Every flower a shrine 

Of pure and tender memories should be; — 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 153 

But vain these fancies ! no such grave is thine; 

There bends above thee no green rustling tree, 
Or odorous shrub ; above thee only falls 
The cold gray shadow of the churchyard walls. 



AFTER AWHILE. 

(Written in April, 186;J.) 

AFTER awhile there will be green leaves sj^ reading 
A shady covering on boughs now bare ; 
After awhile, sweet blossoms will be shedding 
Their balmy odors on the summer air. 
After awhile, where the young grass is springing, 
Bright buttercups and violets will be found. 
And sweet arbutus, to the brown earth clinging. 
Will send up fragrant breathings from the ground. 

After awhile, from orchards blossom-laden 
The oriole will pour his joyous song ; 
And in her woody haunt, like love-lorn maiden, 
The dove will be complaining all day long. 
After awhile, the earth will smile as gladly 
As e'er it smiled, beneath the sky of May ; 
But 'midst the joy of nature, oh ! how sadly 
Fond hearts will pine for loved ones passed away ! 



154 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS 

After awhile, where rang the sound of battle 
Along the river-side, from hill to hill, 
All will be hushed, — no musket's deadly rattle, 
No cannon's roar, — 'twill all be calm and still. 
The earth will hide, the tender grass will cover 
The forms, whose place at home will henceforth be 
So desolate : the maid will mourn her lover. 
The mother, him she dandled on her knee. 

The widow's heart will evermore be yearning 

To meet the smile that gladdens her no more ; 

The child, still hoping for its sire's returning, 

Will often linger, watching, by the door — 

But watch in vain. Ah, me ! my heart is aching. 

And bitter tears come gushing to my eyes ; 

Such mournful thoughts the opening spring awakens, 

There is a shadow on the April skies ; 

Clouds dim the sunshine, undertones of sadness 

Are heard in every song of victory. 

We raise the voice of thankfulness and gladness 

For every triumph gained by land or sea ; 

Praise to our God, whose hand is overturning 

Their wicked plans who have his laws defied ! 

But with each psean blends the sigh of mourning 

For men who bravely fought and nobly died. 

God help us in this time of heavy trial ! 
Upon our lips is pressed a bitter cup ; 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 155 

We tread the thorny path of self-denial — 
But dare we grudge to yield our treasures up ? 
Nay ; for the cause is His, by whose appointment 
Kings rule, and princes justice do decree. 
Father ! this thought is like a healing ointment 
To wounded hearts — we give them up to Thee ; 
Thine are they all — sous, brothers, and possessions, 
We give them up in humble trust that Thou 
Wilt give our land a harvest-time of blessing, 
From precious seed, that 's sown with weeping now. 



HIDDEN AWAY. 



HIDDEN away ! — hidden away ! 
Under the snow-wreaths under the clay 
Lieth a treasure pure and fair: — 
Many another is buried there ; 
Many a heart like mine is sad, 
Missing its treasure, the best it had : 
But when the wild winds moan and rave, 
Whirling the snow over many a grave, 
Only by one my sad thoughts stay, — 
One where the snow hides the fresh-turned clay, 
One than all others more dark and cold — 
For it wraps my own in its narrow fold. 



156 SO^^GS OF EARLY AND LA TUB YEARS. 

Never a flower has lifted there 

Its dewy lips to the balmy air ; 

Never a grass-blade struggled through 

The crushing clods to the light and dew ; 

But all is dreary, dark, and chill, 

As the heart, love's tones have ceased to thrill ; 

For it is only a little while 

Since I was gladdened by voice and smile, — 

Voice that was music, smile that was light. 

Both are lost in the grave's dim night. 

Fair was the form that is folded away 

Under the snow-wreaths, under the clay : 

But it was only the mortal shrine 

Of the heaven-born spirit whose love was mine. 

Spirit, made perfect in glory now. 

There falls to-day on my care-worn brow 

A gleam from the light which circles thine, 

I may not murmur, I may not pine. 

Lonely as I must henceforth be. 

Treading the life-path, missing thee, 

I may not murmur; for thou art blest 

In the presence of Him who loves thee best. 



^^mk^ 




JENNIE. 

"TTJE bade her welcome as a bride, 
VV When April skies were warm and bright 
And in the tender April-tide 
She fiided from onr sight. 
And in our bosom sadly stays 
The thought of those two April days. 

Blow soft, ye south-winds, where she lies, 
Bear thither on your fragrant wing 
The treasures of the April skies ; 
And when June roses fling 
Their precious odors on the air, 
Gather and shed them softly there — 

There, where the fair young mother rests, 

The mother and her infants three ; 

Who never pressed their mother's breast. 

Or slumbered on her knee. 

Sweet babes ! from life's untasted cup. 

They turned away, and soaring up 

To Heaven's bright gates, were welcomed in. 

Unscathed by care, unsoiled by sin. 

14 " 157 




A TRIBUTE 

To THE Memory of William Crawford, lOOth Regt., P. V. 

SOFTLY we speak of our sorrow ; 
Others have suffered as well, 
Many a son and brother 

That day in the battle fell ; — 
Many a sister is mourning, 

Many a lone mother weeps ; 
The more that their eyes may never 
See where the loved one sleeps. 

Thousands as noble have fallen ; 

Thousands, — but he was our own ! 
Nor does it soften our anguish 

To know that he fell not alone. 
We are acquainted with sorrow, 

We have been smitten before, 
Have kissed the pale brow of a brother, 

Whose love may not gladden us more ; 

158 



SONGS F EA RLY A ND LA TER YEA RS. 159 

But now is this comfort denied us, 

To look on the face of our dead, 
Shrouded and coffined to lay him 

Away in his last quiet bed. 

Oh, ill-fated field of Manassas! 

Twice dyed in the blood of the brave ; 
Thither our sad hearts are turning, 

For there found our brother a grave. 
We know not the spot where they laid him, 

Unmarked is the place of his rest. 
And rude feet will carelessly trample 

The sods that lie over his breast. 

But far above earth and its trials. 

We know that his spirit has flown. 
And we think of him bending in rapture, 

With angels and saints round the Throne. 
In life he was earnest and faithful 

Alike to his country and God, 
And we know that it ended in glory. 

The path he so manfully trod : 
And this is a balm for our sorrow, 

We mourn, but still hopefully pray, 
That, like him, we all may be ready 

Whenever death calls us away. 




STOLEN TREASURES. 

PASSING, passing hour by hour, 
Now in sunshine, now in shower ; 
Slowly, softly, day by day, 
Stealeth Time our lives away. 
Time ! when I was blithe and young. 
Ere my heart by grief was wrung, 
I had treasures fair and bright, 
Thou hast borne them out of sight ; 
I will tell thee what they were. 
Wilt thou tell me where they are? 

I had curls of glossy brown 
O'er my shoulders floating down ; 
There are threads of silver now 
In the locks which shade my brow ; 
Then my steps were light and free. 
Now I walk so wearily ; 

160 



SONGS OF EARL Y A ND LA TER YEA RS. 101 

Then my voice was clear and strong, 
Ringing out in many a song; 
Now its tones are low and sad, 
Not the tones which once it had. 

Ah ! if only these were all 
Thou hadst borne beyond recall ! 
Three young brothers, strong and fair, 
Bright-eyed boys with shining hair, 
Shared with me life's early mirth, 
Evenings by the household hearth ; 
Summer days, when glad and free, 
Through the woodlands rambled we ; 
Oh, what treasures found we there ! 
Ripe wild fruits and blossoms fair ; 
And our feet would lina-erino; stray 
Where the cool green mosses lay. 

Time has sped, and death has wrought, — 
Sad the changes they have brought. 
For the youngest of our band 
Fell beneath the spoiler's hand, 
And the cold insatiate tomb 
Hides his manhood's early bloom. 

Then a mother's love was mine, 
Clasping round me like a vine. 
Striving with her earnest prayers 
Me to shield from grief and cares ; 
14* L 



162 SONGS OF EARLY AND LA TEE YEARS. 

Now my mother lies at rest, 
With the sod above her breast. 
And a mother's smile shall be, 
Never more awaked for me. 

Never more? Ah, spoiler, nay ! 
Thou canst bear our youth away^ 
Rob o\ir cheeks of healthy bloom. 
Lay our idols in the tomb ; 
But thou canst not keep them there. 
Here is balm for every care : 
Death may smite, and time may fly. 
Time shall cease, and death shall die ; 
But the treasures which they bore 
To the unseen, far-off shore. 
Through our loving- Saviour's care 
:ShaU he ours forever there. 



MARY ANNK 

THERE is a name of gentle sound. 
Whose echoes warble through my heart, 
And pleasant memories abound. 

In which that pi^cious name has part, — 
That name is thine, my sister, friend, 
If any dearer names there he. 



SOiYGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 163 

I all ill one would fondly blend, 

And by that name would think of thee. 
Sweet sister ! since my early years, 

Such love for thee hath filled my soul, 
I 've parted from thee but with tears, 

And grief that mocked at self-control. 
But when we meet, oh, that is bliss — 

My heart forgets that it is sad ; 
A sister's loving smile and kiss 

Make even the care-worn spirit glad. 



THOUGHTS. 

rpHERE are beautiful thoughts which come and go 
JL Like the dawn of day, like the sunset glow ; 
They haunt our hearts, but we seek in vain 
To breathe them in words ; the loftiest strain 
The poet sings, is nought to him 
But a feeble echo, a shadow dim 
Of the music and light which warm his soul — 
Oh ! if he could but breathe the whole ! 
His song is thrilling in many a breast. 
But he thinks his voiceless thoughts the best. 

Thoughts of charity, thoughts of love, 
Soft as the wing of the brooding dove, 



164 soxas OF early axd later tears. 

Oh ! how softly they flutter in, 
Covering gently a brother's sin — 
Quietly stirring up thoughts of prayer, 
Planning how we may help to bear 
The burden our weary brother bears, 
How we may lighten his many cares — 
How we may lead some erring youth 
Tenderly into the way of truth ; 
But ah ! sweet thoughts ! it is sad to know 
How often you pass like the evening glow ; 
The sky grows dark, and the heart grows cold, 
We go on our way as they went of old, 
Who, passing ' by on the other side. 
Some in coldness and some in pride. 
Offered no help to him who lay 
Wounded and faint beside the way.' 

Sorrowful thoughts they come and stay, 
Vexing our spirits day by day ; 
Casting their shadow on all we see, 
Filling our souls with perplexity ; 
Shutting the joyous sunshine out, 
Veiling our hearts with fear and doubt, 
Till the voice which calmed the stormy sea, 
Speaks to our souls, and the shadows flee. 

Glorious thoughts all warm and bright. 
Gleams sent down from the land of light, 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 165 

How do they cheer our earthly way, 
Turning our darkness into day ! 
Thoughts of Him whose name is Love, 
Thoughts of heaven, our rest above ; 
Thoughts of loved ones dwelling there, 
Thoughts of joys we soon shall share — 
Glorious thoughts, serene and pure ! — 
These are the thoughts which shall endure. 
Beautiful thoughts may pass away 
Like morning mist on a summer day ; 
Sorrowful thoughts will have no place 
Where tears are wiped from every face ; 
But the glory begun on earth shall be 
Perfected in Eternity! 



EARTH'S ANGELS. 

WE meet with angels now and then, 
Along life's dull and toilsome way, 
Oh ! if we only knew it when 
They come, that we might bid them stay, — 
Might hold them with a firmer hand. 
Might breathe the Avords we dare not speak 
In ears which might not understand ; 
But we are ignorant and weak, 
And only see, when looking back, 
Where the good angels crossed our track. 



166 SONGS OF EARLY AX D LATER YEARS. 

Not clothed in white, with shining wings, 

They burst upon our wondering gaze ; 

We see no harp with golden strings, 

AVe listen to no seraph lays ; 

We feel the clasp of friendly hands. 

The light of loving eyes we meet, 

But seldom think an angel stands 

Beside us, in life's dust and heat. 

The hand unclasped, the smile withdrawn, 

We see it all when thev are ironc. 



MEMENTOES. 

rpHP" Uioiights of a loving heart 
-L Poured in a gush of song, 
And a shining curl of soft brown hair, 
Still briglit, tliough kept so long. 
Relics of by-gone days, 
AVhat are they now to me? 
I look through memory's golden haze, 
And this is what I see : 

A form of manly grace, 

A fair unshadowed brow, — 

The radiant light of that young face 

Seems beaming on rac now. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 167 

The fair brow never grew old. 

Nor the bright locks changed their hue ; 

But the loving heart grew still and cold, 

While yet its years were few. 

The angels opened the gates of gold, 

And the radiant soul went through — 

Through to the land of peace, 

Into the light of day, 

Where the cares of life forever cease, 

And tears are wiped away. 



DAY AFTER DAY. 

rriHE sun comes up in the morning, 
JL And the sun goes down at night ; 
The stars come out at eventide, 

And pale in the morning light. 
The days keep coming and going, 

Just as they did of old — 
Just as they will in coming years, 

After our hearts are cold. 

Many a time I have wondered. 

Thinking how it would be, 
The long- bright days, and the (^uiet nights 

And no one thinkinsr of me, — 



168 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

No one watchiii(r and waitinir, 
No one breathing my name, — 

The days still coming and going, 
Ever and ever the same. 

I know I shall be forgotten : 

For those who love me now 
Will lie as low, and the grass will grow 

Over buried breast and brow ; 
The sun will come up in the morning, 

The sun will go down at night, 
AVe shall not care for his shininir. 

We shall not miss his light. 

Neither the light nor the shadow 

Will waken us from our sleep ; 
Eut the Eye that never slumbers 

Over us watch will keep. 
The sun will come up in the morniu"-. 

The sun will go down at night. 
The stars will glitter above us, 

And we sliall not see their light. 
The thought is strange and solemn — 

Strange, though it is not new ; 
The world will be busy as ever, 

With nothing for us to do. 

Ah, well, if the night is coming," 
Let us be busy to-day, 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 169 

The weakest hand among us 

May plant a seed by the way — 
A seed which the earth will nourish 

Till it comes to be a tree, 
In whose cool shadow men will rest, 

In summers yet to be. 
And some one, rested and strengthened 

Under its shade, may say: 
" Some one who walked here years ago, 

Has planted a tree by the way." 
And so he may be encouraged 

To do some deed of love, 
Something to help his fellow-man, 

And honor his Father above. 



SHADOWS. 



THERE were shadows in the morning, 
When the grass was wet with dew, 
But the clouds were white and fleecy, 

And the sunshine melted through. 
So they scarcely checked my singing. 

Hindered hot my childish play ; 
Fleecy clouds and childish sorrows 
Pass so rapidly away. 

Shadows veiled the noonday brightness, 
Sudden was the storm and wild, 
15 



170 SONGS OF EARL r AND LATER YEARS. 

Shutting out the blessed' sunshine 

From earth's stricken mourning child. 
Then I groped among the shadows, 

Wrapping all my thoughts in gloom, 
Blindly groping in the darkness, 

Ever stumbling at the tomb, — 
At the tomb where lay my treasure. 

Snatched so suddenly away. 
Oh, how thick and dark the shadows! 

Oh, how cold and bleak the day ! 
Yet through all the clouds a sunbeam 

Came to light my darkened way. 

Still the shadows have not vanished; 

Only on my path is shed 
Light, to show where I am going ; 

Step by step I softly tread, 
While the light is on my pathway. 

And the clouds are overhead. 
What if yet the sliadows deepen. 

As the evening time draws near ; 
Just beyond earth's latest sunset 

There are skies forever clear. 
In their light shall be unfolded 

All that seems mysterious here. 




AN APRIL SONG. 

THE gra^s is springing everywhere, 
The trees are budding all the same. 
As in the Aprils bright and fair, 

Before my sorrow came. 
The swallow builds beneath the eaves, 

Upon the fence the bluebird sings, 
The dove wdthin the woodland grieves, 
As in the by-gone springs. 



The sounds of labor and of play 

Are mingling on the quiet air ; 
The brook goes singing on its way, 

Through meadows green and fair ; 
Along its edges violets grow, 

And children pluck them, as of old 
The willow-branches are aglow 

With blended green and 



gold. 



171 



172 SOXaS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Whatever beauty April brought 

In other years, she offers now, — 
And shall I yield to gloomy thought, 

And wear a saddened brow ? 
Nay ! I am glad that it is so, 

That human sorrow cannot mar 
Earth's beauty, shade the sun-light's glow, 

Or dim a single star. 

A vacant seat is at my hearth, 

A smitten form is by my side, — 
Alas, for boyhood's shadowed mirth, 

A mother's blighted pride ! 
And yet I know that it is well. 

That love supreme is over all. 
Alike when April's leaf-buds swell, 

And when the snow-flakes fall. 
So, through these quiet peaceful days. 

My grief-worn heart essays to rest. 
Committing all my times and ways 

To Him who knoweth best. 



MY WORK. 



QEND me, and I will go, 
KJ To bear thy message into heathen lands," 
Thus cried my heart. The Master answered, " No, 
Not such the work which waits thy willing hands, 
Yet there is work which all thy strength demands." 

My fingers grasped the pen. 

" Then will I write, and tell the world of Tliee." 

He let me try, too gentle to condemn 
My hasty zeal, but led me soon to see 
Tiuit this was not the work assigned to me. 

I dropped the ])en and sighed : 

" What is it. Lord? What wouldst thou have me 
do ? " 

He bade me look, and lo ! on every side 
Some care, some duty rose to meet my view. 
And yet among them all was nothing new ; 

But duties which my heart 

Had often shrank from, craving something higher. 
"Herein," He said, "do faithfully thy part. 

And thou shalt truly have thy heart's desire." 
15* 178 



174 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And joyfully I said, 

" Thy will be done ; " then every service grew 

Holy and beautiful ; and when the shade 
Of sorrow settled over me, I knew 
That patient suffering served my Master too. 



TO MY BROTHER, J. P. KNOX. 

MY brother! faithful, kind, and true, 
Companion of my infant days. 
Accept a tribute eai-lier due, — 

For though remembered in the lays 
In which I sang the days of yore. 

Thy worth and earnest truth claim more. 

Bound to my heart by links so strong, 
That time and distance cannot break. 

Thy name should grace as warm a song 
As this frail faltering hand can wake ; 

But, ah ! since last we parted, few 

Have been my songs, and mournful too. 



SONGS OF EARLY AX D LATER YEARS. 175 

Sojourning in fi stranger land, 

My heart goes back to those ghad hours, 

When, blithely wandering hand in hand, 

We chased the bees, and plucked the flowers — 

Around our home, that Eden spot. 
Which we have never once forgot. 

And from that spot I walk with thee 

On through the lapse of changeful years, 
When thou wast ever near to nie, 

To share my hopes, and joys, and fears ; 
Or when the rambler's part you tried, 

And left a while your sister's side. 
Plow gladly did I welcome back. 

Whene'er you trod the ' homeward track.' 

And since the wanderer's path is mine, 

And far from thee my lot is cast, 
Thy eyes with loving radiance shino 

Upon me from the distant past, 
While many a pleasant thought of thee 

Comes floating over memory's sea. 

And oft beside the cheerful hearth. 
When twilight shadows fill the room, 

And the light tones of infant mirth 

Ring gladly through the gathering gloom, 

Bright visions of our infancy 

Come, like old friends, to sit with me ; 



176 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

And then to one who lov.es to hear 

The simple tales I love to tell, 
I breathe those memories warm and dear, 

Which in my heart's recesses dwell, 
And loving thoughts and wishes blend 
When thou art named our Brother, Friend ! 



ROSALINE. 



SOFT lay the rosy evening light 
Upon the vine-clad hills of Spain, 
And every steep and verdant height 
Was bright with its impurpling stain, — 
When through a city's crowded streets 
A lovely stranger passed alone. 
Way-worn and w^eary were her feet; 
But, all unknowing and unknown — 
From square to square she j^jassed along. 
Chanting a wild and plaintive song — 
While many paused, her song to hear. 
But more to scan the maiden's gear, 
So novel was her garb. She wore 
The peasant dress of Italy ; 
But on 'her neck and arms she bore 
A wealth of brilliant jewelry. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 177 

Her soft iiiibraided hair was rolled 
Around a comb of gems and gold, 
And here and there a glossy curl 
Burst from its clasp of gold and pearl. 
She had a strange, sweet gift; she sung: 
And words came crowding to her tongue, 
Like ripples on a streamlet's breast. 
When breezes break its wonted rest. 



THE SONG. 

" No mother's love was ever mine ; 
Upon my birth no father smiled ; 
I passed through childhood's summer-time 
A hopeless, joyless, friendless child. 
I was not like the few who tried 
To make their home a home for me — 
They told me that my mother died 
Ere she her helpless babe might see ; 
And I was left alone on earth 
Even at the moiijent of my birth. 
Would, since she died, they had not learned 
The name that made my life un blest, 
I might have borne their own, nor spurned 
Their lowly life ; but in my breast 
They woke high thoughts and passions stron; 
Resistless as the power of song. 
They said she was a lady fair, 
M 



178 SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 

Born of a brave and noble line ; 

They kept the gems she used to wear, 

For me; the name she bore is mine — 

And I have sought her native shore, 

And been a wanderer in the land ; 

I 've breathed that dear name o'er and o'er, 

But vainly, for alone I stand, 

A stranger in the land which gave 

Her birth, who found a foreign grave." 

There stepped a man of lordly mien 
And graceful bearing from the crowd. 
As, doing homage to a queen, 
Before that lovely girl he bowed, 
And asked that precious name to know. 
Her voice was soft and very low 
As trembling, hope and fear between : 
" She was the Lady Bosaline 
De Montalina." Sudden light 
Flashed o'er the visage of the knight. 
" The gems," he said ; "now if there be 
A diamond ring." He took her hand : 
Upon it glittered diamonds three. 
Linked by a single golden band. 
" It is the ring ! the same ! " he cried, 
*' I gave to her my lovely bride. 
And thou, sweet Rosaline, thou art 
The daughter of my lonely heart. 



SONGS OF EARLY AND LATER YEARS. 179 

The child whom I had never seen, 
Nor hoped to see, my Rosaline! " 

Then told the knight a fearful tale 
Of storm and shipwreck, — of a night 
When brave men's cheeks were strangely pale, 
And woman's heart was faint with fright; 
A night when life's delicious light 
Grew in an instant pale and dim ; 
When from his grasp and from his sight, 
The wild waves bore his lady bright, 

While wailed the storm her funeral hymn. 
" Since that dread night," he said, " I 've been 
A mourner for my Rosaline. 
Thy song in part reveals the rest ; 
Yet tell me more." He fondly pressed 
His daughter to his thankful breast, 
And led her from the crowd ; and then 
Told she her story o'er again : 
How those who nurtured her had said, 
They found a lady, well-nigh dead 
With cold and fear, upon the beach, 
Washed almost past the billows' reach. 
They bore her to their cot, and there 
She lived to bless them for their care 
And tell her name and rank. She died , 
And in her dying hour she sighed : 
" Good people, ye are kind to me, 
Kind in this hour of agony; 



180 SOXaS OF FA RL Y A ND L A TER YFA RS. 

Friends to the new-born orphan be, 
And call her Rosaline." They kej)t 
Her wishes sacred. " I have wept," 
She said, " to think that I could prove 
Ungrateful for their tender love ; 
But, like a bird upon the wing, 
My heart hath been a restless thing ; 
It ever longed for home, for Spain, — 
I proudly called that land my own, — 
And with a wild fond hope I came, 
A stranger, fearless, though alone. 
And hope to joy has changed at last, — 
Fear, danger, suffering, all are past." 




'u i.'. 



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